Reliving The Horrors Of A Bullied Teenager (Bullet With Butterfly Wings)

The world is a vampire, sent to drain
Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames
And what do I get, for my pain?
Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game

Rage is blinding. It’s a fact I’ve come to realise over the years. In a couple of years my teenage will be over and it will be a much more memorable journey than my boring childhood. Most of the emotions and moods I go through on a daily basis are mostly consequences of incidents that happened in my teenage. And as a teenager I’ve been bullied a lot. As a child I was into very little physical activity and would spend most of my time indoors watching cartoons on Television.Finally there came a time when I stepped out of my house to go to the local playground to play with other boys-an activity that I considered cool- and the experience was horrible. Most of them were more than 5 years my senior and all of them made sure I had a miserable time. From being beaten and harassed for not playing well enough to being thrown out of every game midway, I would face the flak every single day. I remember being flung into a gutter by a guy twice my size because I refused to get up from the bench where he wanted to sit. One of his accomplices made me a target to throw tennis balls at because he wanted to check his aim. And yet, for some reason I never stopped going there. I remember how embarrased I would feel being humiliated in public. Yes it would hurt a lot whenever I would get punched for my inability to run fast enough or when I’d be hit by a tennis ball aimed right at my face, but the pain and horror of being mistreated in public before all those familiar eyes who would just keep looking at me, never refusing to look away even for a moment in my time of utter shame, that was way more painful than any physical pain I was deliberately inflicted with. I’ve seen way too many faces, rigid, emotionless, amused. The sense of betrayal I felt inside still makes me scream today.

Even though I know – I suppose I’ll show
All my cool and cold – like old job

Then came high school. For most part high school was good and most of my troubles could be put down to insecurities that most people go through at that age. But high school wasn’t all that kind either. There were bullies there as well and much worse than the ones in my neighbourhood. I was treated like a subhuman for absolutely no fault of mine. I especially hated it when a teacher was absent. It meant that the bullies would have an entire lecture to call me names, slap the shit out of me, make degrading songs about me and I remember one of them once tore my shirt trying to jerk me back to my place when I was trying to get up and leave. He did that in front of a packed class.

I’m not looking for objective truth today; I just want words. My bullies words. I want them to talk and explain themselves. To tell their truth, to describe their path, to admit what they were, what they wanted or believed themselves to be. They are ,after all, living their happy lives right now; they’ve been a teenager as well, plodding through life and struggling with difficult transitions.

Now I’m naked, nothing but an animal
But can you fake it, for just one more show?
And what do you want?
I want to change
And what have you got, when you feel the same?

I’m out of high school now. I don’t go to the playground anymore. But I still remember all that I went through like it was yesterday. I never figured out why I would go to the playground everyday or why I never fought back my bullies at school- many of which later became friends of mine. Maybe I was just trying to prove it to them that I too am deserving of the same respect as others. Often when I think about these incidents I realise that I never felt all that miserable while I was being beaten and derided. I would just sort of switch my mind off and go numb. I would feel the worst when I’d go home, there would be a feeling of dread, a lack of respect for myself, lower confidence in my own abilities even in academics, a certain sense of loss of identity-like I no longer knew if situations, people or even me for that matter are real, an extreme sense of detachment, lower intensity of emotions, lacking in enthusiasm and above all FEAR. Nothing in this world sucks more than being afraid constantly of something or someone. It cripples you. It tears apart any positivity that you might have inside you. It destroys hope and annihilates self esteem. You no longer consider yourself relevant in your own eyes. Even those close to you, the ones who genuinely care, even they start seeming incredibly distant. It leaves you in a shell of your own and you find yourself telling yourself constantly ‘Nobody cares about you. You’re just a piece of shit.’. This leads to extreme social anxiety complicating the situation further. I still see my bullies everyday. A couple of them study in the same college as I do. They greet me whenever they see me. I greet them back. And so violence abides. The evil done to me is inside me. Present and powerful. Lying in wait. Many years, many encounters, many tears, and much reading will be necessary for me to overcome it. I don’t like the thought of all that happened to me, I don’t like recounting it either. I’m not ashamed; I’m just reluctant. But there is still a part of me that is standing alone on that ground. A part of me that is sitting in that dreaded classroom. Still experiencing the same fear and anxiety that I went through that time. The day these parts of me will die will be the day I’ll be born again.

Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage
And someone will say what is lost can never be saved
Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage


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