I sometimes wonder who I am, deep down-who the real me is.
From the age around 7, I was bullied. I used to get picked on for most things, from my looks, to my hair, from the way I loved to learn, to the friends I chose to have.
I learnt from an early age, to hide who I really was for an easier life. I loved school, and I didn’t want anything to jeopardise that.
It didn’t work.
When I went to secondary school, I’d been bullied for 4 years, and stupidly assumed that when I started the new school, I could be a new me, a me that was liked, that didn’t do anything silly to cause anyone to have an issue with me.
How wrong I was……
Not only was I bullied for the same things as I was in primary school, but people just managed to find the smallest thing to pick on me about.
My school days were a living nightmare.
I’d tried to make this brand new me, someone I thought everyone wanted to be around, and ended up, once again, making the wrong decision.
I still do it now, I realised today, but in a slightly different way. Now I don’t recognise myself because of the scars left from my school days.
For example, the other day, myself and one of my very few friends, were in a local supermarket, and saw someone I used to go to school with. Someone in fact, that I had been friends with after I left school. Someone in fact, that used to bully me. Our friendship never worked out, of course it didn’t, it couldn’t have! My friend asked if we still speak and I blurted out, “nope, don’t know why we ever did-she bullied me through my entire high school days.” My friend was shocked, I’d never told her that, and I assume, from looking at us when we were friends, you’d never have known. But she did bully me, relentlessly, mentally sometimes, even physically. Not the smallest of girls, she once came round to the back of the mobile classroom where I was sat with another friend, and stood on my thighs with both her feet, with her whole weight on my legs.
Do you know when I saw her the other day, all I kept thinking was, who were you to bully me, when you were the size of a house from the age of 11 and no oil painting yourself!
That’s who she’s made me, someone who picks at someone else, because of how bitter she’s made me.
Another girl, who wasn’t one of the bullying ring leaders, but still joined in, walks past me most days when I’m on the school run with my 6 year old. She used to join in with the name calling, taking the micky out of my hair or my clothes, and now I see her, and remember how fat and ginger she was back at school, how I could’ve been the one to bully her for how she looked, not the other way round!
That’s who she’s made me, someone who finds fault with others, because I’m bitter about how she used to do it to me.
More recently, I’ve somehow made enemies of girls at the school gates once again, except this time, the school gates belong to my sons school, and these girls are grown women, mothers to my sons friends.
I always tell people, I’m like marmite, you either love me or hate me, but deep down, I don’t want to be hated.
I’m no oil painting, I can be loud, I don’t follow the latest fashion trends. But I don’t think I’m a bad person, and can never understand why people find the need to use me as their next victim.
Once again, I stand in the playground, looking at these mothers that make me feel intimidated, anxious to collect my child, and I think, who are you to think that about me, when you look like this that and the other. I judge them for how they look, how they act, even on their parenting.
This is who they’ve made me, someone who picks and picks to make myself feel better, because I assume that’s what they do to me, to make themselves feel better.
Honestly, I have forgotten who I am deep down, I don’t know the real me, only the me who was moulded by bullies for 9 years of my life, and as far as I’m concerned am still dealing with now.
No one should have to go through what I went through, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my son or daughter EVER go through anything even remotely similar.
That’s who you’ve made girls, one super strong, overprotective mumma, and this one wont go down without a fight.