Real Teens Speak Out

Real Friends

Today is Unity Day (part of National Bully Prevention Month), and to show solidarity, I will tell my story of being bullied, and how it affected my life, even when it seemingly ceased. I’m not doing this, seeking sympathy or to “out” anyone (I will not mention specific names), rather I want to display how I have come out strong, unlike others who could find no way out, in their minds.
It was the beginning of sophomore year, of high school. My “best friend” (since 6th grade), and I had been inseparable for quite some time. I hadn’t seen much of her during the summer, as she had made new friends, but that didn’t matter much, because I had made new friends too (if anything it was a fantastic notion, that we could all be friends). It didn’t exactly work out that way. As I got closer with others, she seemed to get farther away, even though I had desired to meet her new friends. Social media was relatively new (myspace, specifically), and her new friends had new profiles, so I added them (naturally). After many attempts to meet up with these friends, and many pleasant conversations on social media, I soon discovered that her new friends, were actually fake. Sure, they existed somewhere, they were actual people, but they weren’t her friends; she didn’t even know them. She had made up all of these elaborate stories about fun times, all of these myspace profiles/posts, fake conversations on the phone, she even told me how one of her new friends’ parent died, and how she was trying to console him, etc. It was completely out of hand, and went on for several months – over 5/6 (before I even caught on). I found out it was all a lie, because I found the Real profiles of the Real people, and spoke with them on IM. They themselves couldn’t believe it, they had never even heard of her. I told one of my friends, but swore her to secrecy, I mean, I was absolutely devastated.
People at school started treating me differently because I was spending more time with others (my class size was relatively small, and shared nearly every class with the same people), and one of them actually went out of their way to IM me, telling me that I was nothing with out my long time best friend, and that my new friends would dump me in a heart beat, that I had better get MY act together(my “best friend” was an athlete, and not just an athlete, “The Athlete”. She was at the top of the food chain, at a school that prided itself on athleticism).
Well of course I was upset, and I finally had the courage to confront her, after not only receiving those IM’s, but at the urgency of a friend, a real friend. To make this short, she confessed to everything, and begged me not to tell anyone. Of course I agreed that I wouldn’t, I was afraid that people would think she was insane, and I pleaded with her to seek help. I still loved her (I still love her and send positive energy her way), but there was no way I could stay friends with someone whom I couldn’t trust.
There were many dark days that followed. There were days that I didn’t get out of bed, that I didn’t go to school, because I dreaded walking through the double doors, to arrive at english class, where I was forced to publicly recite essays, and work that I had put much of my emotions into (which I cried, while I attempted to do so), only to have to display them, to the very people that despised me, because I wouldn’t tell them what happened between us. I kept my word, and I didn’t say a thing about it, a time when everyone wanted to know everyone else’s business, when gossip spread like a forest fire. I was getting so much hate and negative energy thrown my way because I wouldn’t speak about it, I would simply say, “go ask her what happened, I’m not telling”. I could even feel some teachers changing their tune with me, and a friend even got some of the hate from fellow classmates, sometimes. At one point a classmate confessed to me, “I wish I could bring a hammer to school, and hit you over the head with it”. How could I tell the school; the principal? In my mind, at that time, it was called being a knark. Now I know, it’s called standing up for oneself.
Luckily I had friends that stuck by me. That same friend that I was told, would dispose of me, is actually one of the greatest beings in my life. Classmates eventually stopped bullying me, but walking through the school doors was a constant reminder. I would still have this endless anxiety that paralyzed me, and am so thankful I overcame it, with time. After high school, I felt free, and I found myself, and if something like that were to happen again, I know with great certainty, that I would let my voice be heard. Bullying doesn’t just happen by classmates in grade school, it happens in college too, by students and professors, as well as people at your work place. If you feel as though you are being bullied, or you see it happening to someone else, be vocal. There is always someone that will listen, heck I’ll listen!

This is me!

I never understand what I did.
Couldn’t comprehend.
I try and try but to you I’m always a foe not a friend.
I take all you give, but there is only so much before my heart becomes too thin.
Chours!!!(I am different.
But the things you say won’t make a difference.
I am me.
And I’m free to chose who I want to be
Cause This is me.)
I ain’t saying I’m perfect.
There are things I regret
but equality I will try to spread.
I’m confident.
but still a little on the soft end.
Do you not see who you hurting?
Words like that shouldn’t be thrown around like nothing.

(I am different.
But the things you say won’t make a difference.
I am me.
And I’m free to chose who I want to be
Cause This is me.)
It takes a lot to say something.
Not sure what did?
Just talk to a friend.
And in your mind repeat these lines.
(I am different.
But the things you say won’t make a difference.
I am me.
And I’m free to chose who I want to be
Cause This is me.)

Bullied

I was bullied from 6th grade until 10th grade and i just couldnt deal with it, People were calling me name and hitting me, throwing things at me, One day i was standing in the lunch line trying to get a sub and i had 3 girls come grab me by my neck and told me i was gonna die today, its very hard to this day because i still think people are making fun of me and everything else.
Thanks for listening to me(:

“Being African American and other mixed blood”

I look more African American then any other of my mixed blood in me, which is Cherokee Indian and Samoan.
Growing up in America Samoa was not easy. I was called names picked on by other children and also by adults. As I grew up and I realize the ignorance in many families even my own. They would say "meauli" which means black thing and think its funny or named me by this name was very disturbing. I was always distant from these family members because they lack the knowledge in how much what they think of me and say about me is so belittling. My bullying was in school and at my own home. The worse part of this experience is most adults are encouraging this ignorance.
It’s funny how I had these strange people calling me "Julie" and to realize years later when one of my own family members shed light on why they were calling me by this name is because they used this name in place of the black thing they used to lighten the degrading name calling which still refers to the color of my skin.

Dear Teen Me

Dear Iris,

There’s a girl in your school everyone hates. You know who I’m talking about. Tina. Why? You’ll never know. Sorry, but that will remain one of your life’s great mysteries, more personal than where Jimmy Hoffa’s body is buried or who killed Jon Benet Ramsey.

She rides your bus, lives in your town. You know her better than most. You don’t really like her either. Maybe her voice grates on your nerves. Maybe it’s her braying laugh. Maybe it’s her superior attitude. You aren’t sure exactly why you don’t like her, but you don’t hate her either. Why does everyone else seem to hate her? Why are they so mean to her?

You can see her pedaling frantically down that dusty unpaved road in rural New Jersey. Her home is probably a half mile back, not that you can see it much through all the sandy soil her wheels have kicked up. The Garden State. Farmland. Hot and humid.

The people here have sharp edges to them and if you aren’t careful they’ll cut you to the bone. You weren’t used to that when you first moved north from the Deep South. You were a Georgia peach—sweet and soft and easily bruised. You eventually learned how to handle the blades properly, avoid those edges, toughen up from the rogue nicks. You learned to love the blunt honesty, the transparency of their regard for other people.

But your heart hurts watching Tina move closer. Even the bus driver seems to hate her. You hear his grumbles rise in a chorus with all the others’. He revs the engine, closes the door. Tina jumps off the bike in a frantic attempt to cover those last few feet. She miscalculates, though, and stumbles in the dirt. The bus roars with laughter.
Why does she have to put herself out there for ridicule, make herself an even larger target?

The driver opens the door. Still hurrying, Tina brushes herself off as she mounts the steps. Her bike is in an abandoned mangle half on and half off the road. She doesn’t seem to care about it, only making the bus, going to school. Why is she so intent on climbing inside the lion’s den?

A boy slaps her on the back of the head as she passes down the aisle. He tacks on a few choice words. Her head snaps forward from the ferocity of the blow. She doesn’t turn to confront him, doesn’t say a word. Another boy strikes her, even harder. Her glasses are nearly jostled off her face. A nudge of her knuckle straightens them. Her eyes scan for an empty seat. Her house is one of the last stops. There aren’t many seats left. Inside you’re praying she doesn’t spot the empty seat next to you. Other people put their feet up or spread out their books to prevent her from sitting next to them.

To your relief she finds a spot several rows in front of you and sits. The bus takes off for the thirty-minute ride to the high school fed by multiple rural communities. Everyone eventually returns to their conversations, their radios, and their books. They forget about Tina. For now.

A few weeks later, there’s a school assembly. A play. Yay! No class for fourth period. Thank you, thank you!

The play isn’t all that good. You won’t even remember what it was about years from now. What you will remember is Tina strolling out on that stage. She’s in the play. Really?

The audience boos. Not just a few catcalls from the usual suspects. This sounds like the entire student body. She’s speaking her lines, but you can’t hear a word she says. The boos drown her out, but she’s carrying on like nothing is wrong.

You aren’t booing. You are trying to imagine what one person could have done to incite so much hatred people would boo her performance. You want a reason. You need a reason. Ice water runs through your veins and tingles creep over your scalp. You know this girl, her sister, her family. Your conscience is gnawing at you, telling you this is wrong; this is unfair; this is cruel.

But never once do you seriously consider doing anything to stop what’s happening to Tina. After all, if they can do this to her, they can do it to you, too. Silence is your friend. Silence is your ally …

I hate to tell you, but silence was a false friend who tricked you into participating in Tina’s bullying. I know you probably aren’t shocked to hear me say this. You’ve felt guilty about it for a while now. When you remember Tina, you will always feel guilty for being an accomplice by default.

You’ll be happy to know I looked for and found Tina on Facebook the other day. I didn’t think I would be able to track her down so easily, but I did. In hindsight, I shouldn’t be surprised. I assumed life would have kept on kicking her and grinding her under its boot. I was wrong. She’s a missionary in the Ukraine, has a big beautiful family with a husband and sons who look like leading men in romance novels. She looks happy and healthy, even if a few pounds plumper like so many of us. Wow. Good for her.

Now, you might be thinking: seems like that experience made her stronger and therefore, in the long run, it was good for her. Maybe. Maybe not. That’s not the point. Tina is not the point of this letter or this story. The point is, her experience was your experience and it was bad for you. Unspoken outrage has a way of eating its way out, eventually, and it’s not always pretty in the way it manifests—panic attacks, anxiety, depression, and deep regret.

Here’s the deal. Speak up for the Tinas in your life. Don’t look the other way assuming that could have just as easily been you. Pay your debts as you go, and don’t build up that huge guilt mortgage. You don’t have to grandstand your support. You don’t have to punch a bully in the nose or deliver a scathing rebuke. Sometimes all you need to do is wave Tina over to that empty seat next to you or clap for her performance or call your mom to go pick up her bike out of the dirt. Remember that.

With much love,
Iris

Iris St. Clair is the author of the recently released contemporary young adult novel, Louder Than Words, about a teen struggling to find the courage to speak up. Iris believes in the two-year “fish or cut bait” dating rule and has a 20+ year marriage and two sons as proof of concept. She lives, writes, dreams and dances in the rainy Portland, OR area.

Difficult time in school

When I was growing up I was constantly bullied over and over. I always was physically abused, and emotionally. Nobody ever gave me a chance. I was called gay, fat, retarted, and a lot more. I was scared to make friends because I was so nervous of rejection. One day I was punched in the jaw and lost 2 teeth. It was then I told my mom I was being bullied. She transferred me to another school and I had a fresh start.

sin amigos

Hola soy española (por si acaso lo están leyendo gente de USA o de otros sitios) yo he repetido sexto de primaria y hace una semanas un grupo de chicas empezaron a insultarme a mis espaldas porque he repetido me enteré por una chica que también ha repetido y ellas intentan que no tenga amigas yo no les hice nada pero,¿por qué lo hacen?Es algo que no entiendo y esta página web me ha hecho ser más valiente para enfrentarme a ellas pero no acosándolas si no intentando que paren de acosar a gente ¡NO AL ACOSO ESCOLAR!

bully

I got bullied at recess by a kid,i felt sad then angry and it put me in a bad mood for the day.

Everyone is Different in an Extraordinary Way

My name is Daniel and I have Down Syndrome. But I look different than others. Cause, I communicate with others occasionally. Having a Disability helps me understand People and their Social Peer Problems. I grew up in San Angelo, Texas since I was a kid. My folks were stationed in the U.S. Air Force overseas at Ramstein AFB, Germany. That’s where I grew up during my elementary years. I was in Special Olympics since Kindergarten-4th Grade. I was gifted in running and doing accurative activities, like any Gifted Students with Special Needs. During my Middle School years I got teased and bullied, same thing like I did during my elementary years. Kids that young can be cruel and ignorant. I was one of these Kids getting tired getting picked on. Because, I have a disability learning doesn’t mean everyone is different in an extraordinary way. I meet a nice Kid who saved me from the bullies, and he was different than everyone else. His name is Michael and he became my hero. I was tired of getting picked on. Then High School was extremely different. Same thing I was tired of getting tired being intimidated by bullies. During my Sophomore year I learned How to draw and get realistic in Art. I became an Art Student who learned How to Paint and Color. My Junior year I learned how to sing in the Choir and focus on music. I sang Solo like other Boys.

A Little Different

I have three boys, 28, 19 and 17. My youngest, Elijah was diagnosed with aspergers a few years ago but is In a main stream school and doing very well. When he was in middle school and even elementary all the kids noticed that he was a little different and thought that gave them the right to start teasing him and making fun of him. He has been beaten up, jumped, etc. I have become a big advocate against bullying because of everything we have been through with him. Now that he is 17, he has somewhat learned how to stick up for himself. At his school they do a lot of fundraisers for autism, cancer, etc. but I have yet to see one for bullying so I thought, why not make a proposal to them about unity day and have everyone wear orange to raise awareness. I was a little skeptical at first and really thought nah, that won’t go for it, low and behold I got a phone call from the high school counselor letting me know they all thought it was a great idea and are willing to work with me on getting the posters put up, having everyone wear orange and even raising funds and donating them to PACER!! I am more than thrilled to get this going and wanted to say thank you to you for having a website that allows students, parents, teachers etc. to have the opportunity to get resources on this very important topic.