There was one time....
In middle school. Seventh grade. During P.E. period and after all the exercises were done, the girls would be waiting for the girls locker to open so that we could go in and change, and mostly every day, a few girls would nudge each other and say, "Something smells," complete with the gestures and look of disgusts, and their finger points and glances made it clear who they were talking about. That one girl. That was just a tad away from being me. I remember, standing there awkwardly, wanting to say something, but I couldn't. Because it was middle school. When I was still growing into myself and was so ashamed and shy and awkward. And I couldn't say anything, because I was scared. Scared because I knew I smelled just as much (my parents would tell me all the time). Scared I'd get thrown into that category too. With her. And I wasn't brave enough for that. Not then. Not, ever really. All I could feel was relief. Relief that it wasn't me they were picking on. That it wasn't me that had to deal with that. All I could do was hide, cower behind her, secretly. Because I was useless. And I wanted to fit in. Although I was never in that crowd, or ever became apart of it, as long as I wasn't in their field of vision, that was all I wanted.
I could deal with the bullies that openly made fun of me for being nice to a mentally ill kid. I could deal with bullies that are guys. But I can't deal with girl bullies. With their glances and secret whispers and honestly, pointless attempt at subtlety. Their scrutiny is more damaging to ones morale than anything physical could possibly be.
And so now, I sit here, suffering, with the reoccurring memory as it replays over and over in my head. The guilt of not doing anything and letting her take everything upon herself. By herself. And I can only sit and ponder about the different things I could have possibly done, but would actually never have been able to. That one time in middle school. That one time when I outright witnessed something but did nothing. Nothing at all. And now all I have is the nagging in the back of my head. The nagging and echoing that won't ever stop. Maybe by typing this out, this memory that has haunted me for the past six years will slowly fade away. Not completely. But enough. Enough to not feel so guilty anymore. Although I should.
Somehow, this "second-hand" bullying is what sticks to me most than all the other bullied moments in my life. And somehow, is also the most painful one.
I could deal with the bullies that openly made fun of me for being nice to a mentally ill kid. I could deal with bullies that are guys. But I can't deal with girl bullies. With their glances and secret whispers and honestly, pointless attempt at subtlety. Their scrutiny is more damaging to ones morale than anything physical could possibly be.
And so now, I sit here, suffering, with the reoccurring memory as it replays over and over in my head. The guilt of not doing anything and letting her take everything upon herself. By herself. And I can only sit and ponder about the different things I could have possibly done, but would actually never have been able to. That one time in middle school. That one time when I outright witnessed something but did nothing. Nothing at all. And now all I have is the nagging in the back of my head. The nagging and echoing that won't ever stop. Maybe by typing this out, this memory that has haunted me for the past six years will slowly fade away. Not completely. But enough. Enough to not feel so guilty anymore. Although I should.
Somehow, this "second-hand" bullying is what sticks to me most than all the other bullied moments in my life. And somehow, is also the most painful one.