That time he pushed my little sister off of her bicycle and then started hitting me with a pole.
That time she threw acorns at me all the way home.
That time she accused me of stuffing my bra and spread the rumor.
That time he took my shoes right off my feet and threw them into the trash can.
That time he pretended to like me and then gave his friends my phone number to harass me.
That time they told everyone I was sleeping with my psychology teacher.
I was sitting in my psychology class today, and that was what was going through my mind the entire time. We were talking about what makes a bully decide to bully, and what makes a victim a victim. The scary thing is we could not pinpoint a single solid reason for bullying, which is not surprising because for me there was never a reason. What was surprising, however, was how many people in my class had experienced bullying before. In my class of 15, all but one knew what it felt like to be degraded, hurt, feel like nothing.
It was never easy to bully me. I am not one to let an injustice be done to me without any repercussions on their part. That time he pushed my sister off of her bike and hit me with a pole? I threw my bike down, tackled him, and beat his face into his skull. (Not really, but he did end up with a bloody nose). He never messed with us again. The time she threw acorns at me? I collected them and chased her back to the school while throwing them at her. The time he pretended to like me but passed my number out? Hello 4 AM phone calls from an anonymous number. They never get away with bullying me. I won’t let them. But even though they don’t get away with bullying, I’m still a victim.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can break hearts.