Childhood Bullying I – Experiences
This June marked 10 years since I left school.
I was the weird kid. I don't know if I was innately weird, or if years of bullying turned me that way. Either way growing up wasn't fun.
When I was 7 years old my family had to move across the country, I landed in a new school at the point where friendships and social dynamics were ironed out – if it wasn't apparent that there was no room for me, my new classmates would make sure I knew.
I was a sensitive lad, as if being the new kid wasn't enough to lock me out. It wouldn't take much for me to cry and when the rest of the class found that out my life was over. Barring two lads, every boy in that class swarmed me in an instant, and daily life became one of punches and bruises – boys goading one another to see who could make me break down the quickest. I'd be lucky if I could go a day without having a small mob actively going out of their way to harass and assault me – I became a valid target of aggression, and nothing was off-limits.
Swiftly it became part of class culture that I wasn't equal, and the fact I was lesser permeated every aspect of school life. Anything to be shared wasn't passed on to me, my possessions became anyone's possessions, and my existence was only acknowledged when I was to be laughed at. There were no qualms about whether it was right to hurt me – to them it was entertainment like any other.
I can't describe what being in a hostile environment like that does to a young mind, 'soul-destroying' doesn't remotely cover it. Whatever social skills I had were pummelled out of me to the point where during one day of humiliation, all I could scream through confused tears was "Why are you laughing at me?" at a crowd of goading onlookers – that plea as a desperate, damaged boy was mockingly echoed back at me for the rest of my life.
Isolation became my only solace on the playground. The good days consisted of spending my breaks idly pacing with my face pointing down and being left alone – but that would never stop anyone from approaching me to cause harm. There was never a safe moment on the playground, and I don't have the words to convey what that did to me.
I was only 7 years old. No-one had the right to lay a finger on me.
I was always the kid who followed rules at school, I believed that they were unbreakable tenets of life which would come around to protect me. That, and a fear for getting into trouble meant that when I was told that I shouldn't get into fights and to tell a teacher if someone was harassing me. As other victims of childhood bullying will tell you, that did nothing solve the problem. On a good day a teacher might get a crowd of lads to pack it in for 10 minutes, but the second backs were turned I'd be kicked to the floor again.
I remember one December day with heavy snow. The staff decided to let us enjoy the magic. A school-wide snowball fight was arranged on the field, and the playground was reserved for those who didn't want to participate; knowing I'd be chased around and have snow piled in my face and shoved down my clothes, I stayed in the safe zone surrounded by teachers – Not that it stopped anything. One of the teachers had the nerve to say it couldn't have happened, as if my clothes were bone dry before them.
Staff neglecting their duty of care was common throughout my school life, and I cannot express my pain over it.
I was 9 now. My parents were increasingly distraught over the fresh bruises I'd return home with, and while I can't remember if I told them what happened, I know that a single dinner lady blew the whistle to them. It wasn't long before my mum witnessed me one day being punched to the ground moments after dropping me off at the playground – she immediately stormed back in, raising hell at nearby teachers for ignoring it before dragging me back home in tears.
The next day my parents had a meeting with the headmistress, wherein she finally admitted that there was a problem with bullying and said she'd do whatever she could to prevent it – aside from remove those who purposely and repeatedly assaulted me. My parents weren't buying it, and I was taken out of that school.
I was moved to another primary school a mile away. It would've been nice, but I was already a broken, different child. All it took was for a single boy to cotton on to it before it all started again. What didn't help was that the school was still local, many of the kids knew those from my old school and it wasn't long before I was asked were you the boy who... Followed by a painful memory.
The bullying here started again. It was smaller in scale, less physical but more social. There was one boy in particular who'd assault me during certain games so that when I'd go to a teacher about what he was doing, the easiest option would be to ban the game altogether – dodgeball in particular. I remember him using that as an excuse to repeatedly pelt me in the face even if I wasn't part of the game, and he gleeful that he could pin the blame of it being banned on me.
One clear memory is that the new school's playground was in the shape of a horseshoe around the main building, with a little connecting path off-limits for pupils. One day I was 'it' for hide and seek, up against the rest of my class, bar a single girl. It wasn't long before I spotted them all bundled together – with one of them making eye contact with me – before running off. I gave chase, stopping before the path we were banned to go on. Tracking all the way back around I noticed the same happen, the rest of my class huddling back down the off-limits path, pretending they weren't spotted. I approached a member of staff about them going down the banned path (again, I was a kid who always followed and respected rules), but they shrugged it off and asked how they could stop so many of them going down that class.
Returning inside and talking to my teacher, he wasn't having it. He went out of his way to confront the rest of the class when break ended. Funny how their laughs suddenly stopped.
All I can think about was the one girl who was kind enough not to join in.
Secondary school wasn't fun either. Kids from both the primary schools were part of it, and they spread things about me to the rest of the kids around the school. It wasn't quick before they all cottoned on. The first few years were hellish.
It was at secondary where I found myself blowing up. I was irritable and quick to anger at the smallest of provocations, and I still hate myself for it.
I find it difficult to talk about what happened. All I'm thankful for was that my head of year changed in year 9, from an English teacher who laughed at my parent's concerns to a Geography teacher who took my safety seriously. He stuck his head out to get me help, and arranged for in-school counselling and anger management during the rougher times.
Secondary school slowly got better as folks matured and I learned how to cope better. When I moved on to college – far away, with completely new people – I found myself surrounded by other self-prescribed weirdos, many of whom faced the same as I did. They were a wonderful bunch, and for the first time in my life I felt comfortable, safe, and that life could actually be wonderful.
How long did I have to wait for just a moment of peace?