Once again I lie, wide awake, in the dead of night.
Once again I have forgotten—that I am safe, that I am loved.
Once again I relive hell.
I am a bullying survivor.
There are so many things I have left unsaid for hours, days, and years. It’s been seven years, in fact. I was fourteen when it started, and seventeen when it ended. Back then I’d always felt that I had grown up too fast and missed what should have been the best time of my life. The immature adolescence, the cool, relaxed breeze which is the transitioning of childhood to youth. But back then all I could think of was one thing– escape.
Bullying amongst children may seem little to adults, but for the victim it is utterly damaging. I pray no one ever has to experience what I have. The isolation, the crippling fear. Till this day I spend nights awake, crying till day breaks. I trust few (previously none) for fear that I may end up betrayed again. I am wary of people who want my companionship, and gossip terrifies me. Despite my poor memory, I can remember the faces of everyone who took part in the bullying; their names, actions, and amusement. It is a continual reminder me of the false truth that I am an unwanted, laughable existence.
I suppose the question I should first answer (more to myself than anyone else, as I remain my anonymity on this blog) is why now? Why speak now and not then? The answer is this– I am stronger now, and I am (slowly but surely) learning to trust others and move on. I have decided that it is time to face it. My past. I have spent years pretending that a chunk of my life never occurred, but now I feel it is time to be proud of who I am. A survivor. A flawed one, but one nonetheless.