How can you say bullying is funny? How can you say it's not a big deal?
No Pity. No Shame. No Silence
This is a revised journal entry that I originally wrote on 4/16/02. I've used it at a conference on bullying and it's being included (altered further to make it 1st person) in a show I'm working on that will eventually be presented in high schools.
I am more compelled than ever to tell the story of what happened to me in school. To own it. To speak it. To not be ashamed of it. That, which in its breadth and scope, expands past the mind's limits. Here is what really happened. In school boys, it was almost always boys, found ways each day to let me know that I was not worthy of breath, peace, bodily integrity, and the space I occupied. To them, I was outside the norms of how a girl should be and to make sure I got the message, physical force was used. It took years before I was allowed to read a full chapter without having my nose driven into the book. There was always a hand to push my head into the book. The really sneaky boys would snake their hands past my ear and drive the book up into my face. I was always left to ponder my humiliation alone. How could it be that this body I was born into was so unworthy of valuable time yet also worthy of every cruel inspiration at the same time?
To survive this I became hard as stone. Nothing would ever matter to me again. My body became theirs because it was only a shell and what happened to it no longer mattered because it would never feel again. And it certainly would never reflect feeling. It would never cry. And I decided never to be surprised again. I would never again be touched by another human being without sensing the disturbance of the air first.
I must be able to say that I was abused. Shouted at. Humiliated. Taunted. Sexually threatened. Hit. Struck by flying objects. Pushed. Physically threatened. My belongings were taken and destroyed. Cruel songs were made out of my name. Tripped. My senses were assaulted. Mimicked. Emotionally controlled. Put on constant edge. Isolated. Pointed at. Moved away from. And I now understand that the truest summation of my experiences can only occur when the above list is added to the weight of waiting for the next blow.
To regain what was lost. That will be the hardest. To think of this body as free, safe, and relaxed is the most desired. I don't know if this body or this mind is capable of that kind of regeneration.
Fishburn Park Elem.
James Madison Middle School
Roanoke, VA
Bedford Middle School
Liberty High School
Bedford, VA
This is a revised journal entry that I originally wrote on 4/16/02. I've used it at a conference on bullying and it's being included (altered further to make it 1st person) in a show I'm working on that will eventually be presented in high schools.
I am more compelled than ever to tell the story of what happened to me in school. To own it. To speak it. To not be ashamed of it. That, which in its breadth and scope, expands past the mind's limits. Here is what really happened. In school boys, it was almost always boys, found ways each day to let me know that I was not worthy of breath, peace, bodily integrity, and the space I occupied. To them, I was outside the norms of how a girl should be and to make sure I got the message, physical force was used. It took years before I was allowed to read a full chapter without having my nose driven into the book. There was always a hand to push my head into the book. The really sneaky boys would snake their hands past my ear and drive the book up into my face. I was always left to ponder my humiliation alone. How could it be that this body I was born into was so unworthy of valuable time yet also worthy of every cruel inspiration at the same time?
To survive this I became hard as stone. Nothing would ever matter to me again. My body became theirs because it was only a shell and what happened to it no longer mattered because it would never feel again. And it certainly would never reflect feeling. It would never cry. And I decided never to be surprised again. I would never again be touched by another human being without sensing the disturbance of the air first.
I must be able to say that I was abused. Shouted at. Humiliated. Taunted. Sexually threatened. Hit. Struck by flying objects. Pushed. Physically threatened. My belongings were taken and destroyed. Cruel songs were made out of my name. Tripped. My senses were assaulted. Mimicked. Emotionally controlled. Put on constant edge. Isolated. Pointed at. Moved away from. And I now understand that the truest summation of my experiences can only occur when the above list is added to the weight of waiting for the next blow.
To regain what was lost. That will be the hardest. To think of this body as free, safe, and relaxed is the most desired. I don't know if this body or this mind is capable of that kind of regeneration.
Fishburn Park Elem.
James Madison Middle School
Roanoke, VA
Bedford Middle School
Liberty High School
Bedford, VA