The Hidden Life of A Bullied Girl

I'm going to list five truths. Five experiences I've had as a result of suffering severe peer abuse between the ages of about six and sixteen. I'll explain a little about each as I go. Some of these things my family know about. Some they don't. One of them I've only admitted to anyone at all as of yesterday. It's time the world appreciates just what an affect peer abuse has.

Please note this hasn't been proof read as it was hard enough to write never mind read. I need a break from it. It may also be triggering for people who've been bullied, abused, or who self harm.

1. It was abuse, pure and simple.

By the time I was eight, I was scared of leaving the house. Leaving the house to go out and play almost always resulted in verbal or physical assault.  I would be called names, I had my own theme tune (I couldn't go anywhere without the Addams Family Theme being sung at me). I was hit over the head with the wooden handle of a swinging skipping rope, repeatedly. I had things thrown at me. It never stopped and by the time I reached my teens I wouldn't walk around my village alone because I'd been hit, punched, pushed into rose bushes, intimidate by a girl weiding a metal pole, had my hair pulled, had my hair filled with chewing gum, and been backed up against walls more times than I can remember to be hit and kicked. I'd been surrounded to be verbally or physically abused more times than I care to remember, and the police denied they could do anything. That was bad enough, but what caused a little teasing to become something horrific enough to merit policy intervention was my headmistress in first school. My headmistress who denied there was any bullying in her school and left me stuck in anew environment where abuse could flourish.

She didn't leave me with much hope so my childhood was one of near constant fear, throughout my primary years and beyond.

Thereally was one day I was surrounded, hit, pushed into a rose bush (I was literally sat in it and I was pulling thorns out of my legs for hours), and intimidated with a metal pole. My one friend had to run home to get my mam to intervene. When mam came to chase off the 'bullies', the first words I said to her, while stood there with rose thorns in my legs and arms, were apparently 'but I didn't cry'.

To this day I can remember being proud of that, of not crying. Crying was weak, right? I'd been told so many times to 'toughen up' that not crying was worthy of pride. But it wasn't necessarily a good thing as, by the age of ther teen,  I'd learned to shut up and take whatever was coming without tears, at least whenever I could hold them back. But there's only so long anyone can hold back tears and internalise pain and fear before it causes some serious damage.

2. Resulting vulnerability can lead to unhealthy intimate encounters.

By the age of ten/eleven I'd learned my peers could do what they wanted to me. Hurt me with words, intimidate me, attack me. Fighting was pointless. By ten/eleven I'd learned to treasure any friendship I made because eventually the intensity of the bullying and/or my social problems due to it would drive people away. This left me vulnerable. Very vulnerable.

There was a girl in my year who was... well, mam calls her a sheep... she followed where the bullies led. She went from being horrible, to being my friend, to being horrible again, really really viciously so. Even when we were 'friends' she was in control. We did what she wanted because I didn't want to fall out and lose her friendship. I wanted to keep her happy.

When I was about ten/eleven, that inequaity went too far. We were playing in a tent made from sheets in my back garden. I can still remember the wooden clothes horse which supported the structure. It was held together by hope more than structural integrity. Such tents had been a place of joy to me in summers playing with my siblings, but this one experience was anything but happy. In the tent there was me, my friend, and a girl a year younger than us. My friend asked if we'd ever been touched 'down there'. When we said no, she said we should touch each other.

I feel sick writing this because I didn't want to touch them. I didn't want them to touch me. Maybe she had faced some abuse elswhere or had accidentally seen something inappropriate to make her ask such a thing, I don't know, but at that point I'd fought bullying for so long and had so few friends that I didn't feel I could say no. Even if I ran inside and told my parents, I thought they wouldn't be able to do anything. They'd talk to the other girls' parents, they'd talk to the school or police, but the other parties would insist I was lying, just as they did about the bullying, just as had been going on for years. And anyway I didn't want to lose my friend...

The other two took turns to touch each other, then waited for me to join in. I didn't know how to say no without making my life worse. After all, my life had gotten worse every time I reported anything untoward. I believed that speaking out would've been pointless, detrimental... So I let both girls slide their hands into my underwear and touch me in a way I didn't want to be touched, a way that made me feel guilty and ashamed. Then I complied when they told me to touch them.

I hadn't even hit puberty. I barely understood what was going on down there except that one day I'd start bleeding and it all had something to do with making babies. And even that, I'd only recently discovered. I hated the experience. I was so very ashamed and afraid I'd get into trouble. The memory still haunts me.

For twenty years I've kept that secret, ashamed, disgusted, feeling dirty.  I hadn't wanted to allow what happened, but being bullied had already taught me that reporting incidents and fighting got me nowhere. I was also lonely and wanted friends. Though, as it was, both girls returned to verbally tormenting me not long after that anyway, despite my compliance.

They remained friends with each other, they became friends with others who bullied me, but not with me. They'd made me feel even more disgusted in myself than I already did and stole some of my innocence while doing it. I've carried so much disgust and shame about that for so long, disgust that I did something that I knew to be wrong, something I didn't want, without rebellion, because I was already too afraid of my peers to say no. And I hate myself for that.

I had two more encounters aged sixteen and seventeen which came about through coercion, either from fear of losing someone or because I was lied too. Both were sexual, only one was attempted intercourse. Neither left me feeling happy. In fact, both left me disgusted at myself.

Oh, there was my eighteenth birthday night out too, when some stranger shoved his hand down my top... sad thing about that is, a lot of women go through that last one. Some men just think their hand can go anywhere, and so I accepted it as part of life. By then, I also hated myself so much I was flattered he wanted to touch me. even admitting that makes me cringe, ashamed.

My first positive intimate experience came wasn't until four/five months after that last event, after I turned eighteen, and after I met the man I went on to marry; a man who is still one of my best friends and my rock. I'm lucky I found him.

3. Children slip through unnoticed by mental health services and teachers can worsen symptoms.

In '96, I saw a child services regarding mental health. I can't remember this but my mam's recently mentioned it, as did my new psychiatrist in his recent report. By then I was ten/eleven and I'd already been diagnosed as having migraines due to stress. That's something my new psychiatrist called 'psychosomatic' last week. Telling, right?

By '96, I was already showing symptoms of psychological problems. Yet I wasn't treated beyond being given pills for migraines. I slipped back under the radar and the bullying went on. Only by then I had to do battle with teachers and school nurses too, people who declared me to be 'a sickly child' because I was ill so often. I missed a fair bit of school. It's a wonder I'm educated to the level I am, really, because middle school could've easily destroyed my chances.

So I was a sickly child to the adults at school, at least to start with. As years went by, a number of teachers also told me the bullying was my own fault when they couldn't resolve it. That further destroyed my self image. Said enough times, it also made me confrontational with SOME authority figures when I feel unheard or let down. Afraid of peers and untrusting and argumentative with authority figures. it's not a great combination, although I'm getting better with the latter now I'm an adult myself.

I am. No matter what some would say.

4. Consequences are long lasting.

I am agoraphobic. Open spaces are ok, but it's the crowd side that is too much for me. Being trapped among a lot of people where there's no obvious escape causes disabling anxiety and panic attacks. If I was looking for a reason for that, I'd say it was the times I was surrounded while out playing, or more likely again, when I was surrounded at the bus stop waiting for the school bus. Trapped. Just like I would be the day after, and the day after that.

I think I also have a degree of claustrophobia. It's there when I enter lifts, but also buses. Being trapped in a box with others is nauseating. But then, I can't count the number of times I spent squashed against the school bus window with people behind, in font, beside me all determined to get a reaction from me, make me cry,  or make me say one of the useless pharases I'd been taught in a desperate attempt to reassure me...

'Sticks and stones may break my bones'... 'You're just jealous'... anything that I thought was better than tears.

These days, I'm also known to have social phobia, but I guess that one is self explanatory.

5. Consequences are life threatening.

I can't remember what it was like to want to exist. The peer abuse started so young that I learned to hate myself and fear the world long before I'd finished becoming whoever I'd had the potential to be. Falling apart this year isn't much of a surprise really as it's been coming for more than two decades. I've popped all my antidepressants out of their packet and started taking them before, intent on killing myself. I've driven towards the coast twice, intending to drive off the cliffs and only saved by two lucky phone calls. I've also self-harmed since my teens. So much so that I find the dripping of my blood comforting, a distraction, and because it means I've punished myself for being a horrible person.

I'd NEVER hurt another, not after how often I suffered other people's cruelty, but I often feel I need to be punished. There must be a reason people hate me, after all... It must be my fault.

I'm getting help with that belief now though, and at this moment I'm two weeks self harm free and willing to access crisis support when I get low or anxious enough to consider it. That'said a slight improvement, even though my distorted self image is as fragmented as before.

Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx

Guest Blog: Abused By So Called Friends

Today we have a guest blog written by one of my best friends, The Undead Noodle. It relates back to my 'Not All Killing Blows Are Physical' post and it's heart-breaking. This is why we need to stop peer and emotional abuse, and why no person suffering mental illness should be targetted for harassment and have their illness used against them. Such behaviour is life-threatening. In my opinion, it can amount to attempted murder.

To my UndeadNoodle. You are valuable. You are loved. You are worth so much, no matter what cruel ********* say. I know you won't believe me, but it's true, and I'm going to keep repeating it. I am grateful that you're in my life. Even though we can't see each other as often as we'd like, talking to you almost every day matters to me. You matter.

Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx

Abused By So Called Friends

Well, I have been asked to write a blog as a guest for one of my closest friends, and I said yes, so hey. I have been thinking a lot about what to write, and yesterday’s events gave me some good ideas. But before I go there let me give you a small bio on me, so the rest of what I write will make sense.

I am a 31 year old mum. I haven’t worked in 8 years now, because I wanted to be a stay at home mum and watch my beautiful boy grow. Then once I could go back to work I found I had cancer, so went through treatment which was successful thankfully. Now, I have struggled with depression for most of my life, and the last few years have added a massive bundle of anxiety to that too. I am overweight, so my confidence is basically non existent. But, despite all of that, I am a nice girl. I am always friendly, I support my friends as much as I can, and all in all I am a good person.

That’s rare for me to admit. Especially now, after yesterday. Yesterday, a couple of my friends and I were betrayed by someone we thought we could  trust. The woman and her husband were rude  disgusting to us. I was personally attacked online, and my friend was given horrid abuse when she stepped in to defend us all.

We were abused. It can’t be explained any other way. Unfortunately we all suffer from depression and anxiety. We have all self harmed. And at  one point or another we have had suicidal thoughts. The girl who was downright cruel I shall name Girl C, and her husband will be called D. Girl C was so good, she weaselled her way into our group, working slowly but surely closer and closer, getting us to trust her, to open up, to let her in. This is over the space of about a year, so she knew how to play the long game. Her husband, D, was always abusive. He treated her so badly and we all felt bad, supporting her through her depression, through her feelings of worthlessness that this awful excuse for a human being constantly made her feel.

We told her things barely anybody knew. We all shared, or so we thought. And we kept it all between us 4, again or so we thought. We were a close knit group. We chatted online every day. We Skype and oovooed, sometimes all 4 at the same time. We were really close. Until recently.

Recently Girl C changed. She got new friends that she spoke to more. I mean by all means no one was upset that she had more friends. It was the fact that her attitude changed towards us that I didn’t like. But, arguments aren’t my thing. I have always suffered with self blame, and I will blame myself for everything. I can’t help it. I constantly feel guilty. Guilty for things I’ve said, things I’ve  done. Even when I haven’t done anything. I don’t lash out, I lash in. I withdraw, and force myself to take the blame, take the punishment, even if none is needed. I always think I’ve done wrong. I have done since I was a teen.

So, naturally, I blamed myself for Girl C's change of behaviour. I tried to stay away from arguments, whilst still supporting whoever needed me. Oh, and Girl C was my best friend. I was fooled. She had been telling D stuff about us. Because yesterday, after I commented once, and it wasn’t even anything bad, D got involved. He told me and my friends to kill ourselves. He said no one wanted us. No one would miss us. He then turned on me. He said I needed to get laid. He said that I would have to pay them, or ply them with drink and drugs to get them to be with me.

Bang. One of my biggest triggers. Thrown so carelessly into my face. He didn’t care. He laughed. I have always felt disgusting. Like I wouldn’t be desired, wanted, needed. Especially intimately. It takes a lot for me to do anything. And  now, there is no chance. Not after that. I think of someone touching me and I cry because they wont truly want me, will they. They need drugs. They need money. Because I am not attractive enough for them to want  me just because it’s  me. Any tiny, miniscule amount of confidence I had in myself is gone. Completely. Because that’s how mental illness works. Out of a thousand compliments you will only listen to the one insult. Because it’s the only one that makes sense. It’s the only one you can truly believe in. Someone finally said exactly how you feel. And as you feel relieved that finally someone sees what you see, it also breaks you. It smashes into your heart and rips it apart. Your soul dies a little more. Your pulled a little deeper into your pit of depression. And the walls become even harder to grip onto.

You think, why bother? Why try and climb out when you can just slide to the bottom, lay down and die. If that one person sees your true self, then everyone else must do too. They pity you. And no one wants to be pitied. So push away again, your curl into yourself, so they don’t have to bother with you anymore. They will feel better because your gone. They don’t have to waster their time on you any longer. And it swirls. Down, down down. It’s never ending. I could write for hours and hours about how my thoughts go.

I know I’m worthless now. I know I’m nothing. If someone who was named my best friend could betray me, then I cant be worth anything, can I. But, I still will live. I will support my other friends who were abused by D. Because that’s who I am. I’m worthless, but I love my friends, and I don’t want them feeling this way. I won’t let them think like I do. I will support them until I am no longer needed or wanted, and then I will slink away and let them be happy. Because I can be a support beam, but I’m not worthy of standing on the floor I support.

TheUndeadNoodle
https://www.blogger.com/profile/06892693911835590834