Diary of a bullied boy...20 years later

Teachers can be bullies too

I was in the sixth grade. I was skinny, short, unpopular, unattractive, I had no sense of fashion, I wore glasses (which was not fashionable at the time; it got me labeled as a nerd, which was also not fashionable at the time), and I had no muscle tone. Needless to say I did not have a girlfriend, a gf, a boo, or a bae. I already knew I was a bit of a hopeless romantic. By hopeless I mean completely hopeless. I was shy. If a girl I liked came near me my heart would beat so hard it nearly drowned out my thoughts. I did not even understand how to talk to boys in my class, much less girls. Add in the religious upbringing. If a girl cussed, I was not interested in her. If her hair was short, not interested. If she dressed like a hoe, not a chance (that doesnt mean I did not sneak my share of peaks, get aroused, feel guilty, then try to make it right by forcing myself to believe she was trash, and possibly even pray for her...I can assure you I am no longer like this). Most importantly, she had to believe in God and she should attend church regularly. Yep. Thats how fucked up I used to be.

I was riding the bus home one afternoon when I made eye contact with a new girl a few seats up. It was the longest eye contact I ever made with a girl. Score! This happened again a few days later. Score! She looked familiar. I thought maybe she was a girl who had visited our church once or twice. I later found out it was indeed the same girl. I noticed she would occasionally hang out with a girl I used to secretly like in fifth grade. This should have been a warning sign but I failed to see any red flags. Lets just say the girl I liked back in fifth grade was a bit rough. A lot of people in our class looked down at her. She was kind of poor, then again so were half the kids at this elementary school. She did not hesitate to tell off a teacher or to call a girl fat. She did not hesitate to kick a poor defenseless boy with asthma in his stomach and send him to the hospital. She seemed a bit advanced for our class. For whatever reason, she seemed to like me. She would publicly flirt with me. I thought about her every evening at home. All evening.

When we started sixth grade, in that huge, threatening, intimidating middle school, she would occasionally ask me if she could borrow money. Nothing big, maybe a quarter. Maybe even a dollar. I would never see this money again. I did not care. I was glad to be able to help her and I was even more grateful for any interaction I could score with her. She would later get pregnant in 8th grade. She was 14 when she had her baby.

Anyway. Back to 6th grade. I would see her hanging out with Amanda, the girl from the bus who I had established eye contact with. Twice. Score! One day, Amanda randomly came over and sat beside me. She began to dig through her small denim purse. "Oh my god, I need some money BAD!", she stated. I sat still like a retarded statue. She asked if she could borrow any change, like a beggar. I quickly obliged. Like a stray cat who hangs around for food, she would find an excuse to need to "borrow" money more days than not. What a bitch.

The bitch was clever. She was a year older than me. She was tall. She was super skinny, developed, but so thin. I recall her saying she weighed only 48 pounds. She had long strawberry blonde hair. Bangs. She had freckles! (a personal weakness of mine) Did I mention she was a year older? For most boys this age, receiving the attention of a girl a year older is equivalent to the attention of three girls your own age. I felt honored. I felt adored. I felt like a king.

Amanda was clever and sneaky. She would hang out with me when it was convenient. She quickly learned to down play the fact that she always wanted money. She would make that part quick and painless. This part made up probably only 1% of our time together. She would sit with me on the bus all the time. She would flirt slightly but nothing big. I remember on the morning bus ride, the bus would come by my house before hers. When we would get to her place, there was a 50/50 chance she would be there. She missed a lot of school. If she was not there, my heart would sink. However, I would feel this strange sense of relief. On the days she was there, my heart would thump so hard I was nearly shaking as she would board the bus. I could not breathe. I wanted her to sit with me. If she did, I was in heaven. If she didnt, instant heart break city.

One day she referred to herself as my girlfriend. My girlfriend! Woot woot! Sadly this was just her way of buttering me up. She wanted more money. Not just a dollar. She was more interested in big bucks. $5.00. $10.00. $20.00. Yeah. It was getting bad. One time she stooped so low as to try to get me to steal money out of my mothers purse. I did not honor her request.

Fortunately for her, she lived rather close by and it was not long distance to call her. Sometimes we would talk on the phone. My parents did not like her. My sister did not like her. I loved her. She knew it.

A few times she managed to persuade me to convince my dad to bring her over to my place. I did not understand this power she had over me. All I knew was that my sincere yet fragile heart enjoyed her company. The first time she came over was on Valentines Day. How perfect. We hung out in my room for a few hours. It was great. It was totally innocent, except for her making away with more money and even some things I gave her. I probably gave her $50.00. I gave her some electronics. I even gave her my school pictures from when I was a little boy. Im not sure why she wanted them. To this day, my very mother still misses these pictures as she cant help but notice there seems to be so few school pictures of me anymore. I was too embarrassed to explain. I still am.

One time on the bus we were sitting together. Surprisingly she did not want anything. She was talking about sex. Something I was too shy to discuss with a girl. I had never even kissed a girl! Sex? Seriously? She began asking sexual questions. She randomly reached in my pants. She felt my penis. "Whats that?", she asked in her cute voice, with excitement.
"My weiner", I replied. Dumbass! Why did I choose that term? I must have been the only guy in sixth grade to not use the term dick.
She felt my balls.
"Whats that?"
"My sack". Dumbass!
She proceeded to tug at my pants and underwear to sneak a peak. We can safely say she was a curious girl. Thats not to say that I was not just as curious, if not more so, about what this older girl had going on under her tight shirt and tight jeans. But I would not have in a million years dared to find out. No way. Too intense. Too wrong. Dumbass!

By the end of middle school she was determined to get pregnant. She would hang out with any guy who would give her attention. She would tell people she was pregnant even though she was not. She would disappear for weeks, sometimes months at a time.

Ive recently looked up both girls on facebook. Ew. How badly theyve aged. What hard lives theyve obviously both had to live. I feel sorry for them. I feel sorry for however many innocent kids they brought into this world. I feel sorry for me.