Alone
My account of being bullied by isolation.
When I was fourteen, the people I thought were my friends changed. I’m still not entirely sure what was going through their heads, but one day, for no reason at all, this small circle of friends became ‘exclusive.’ They weren’t the popular gang, the smartest, the best at sports or the best at anything. But I had thought they were my friends. That was in second year in secondary school.
After the summer break, there was tension between us. Or rather, there was tension whenever I was around. There began a daily ritual of “Oh, there he is,” and off they went, leaving me there to try laugh it off like it was all a joke when secretly... secretly it was like a knife in a back. I didn’t tell anyone. What do you say? “No one in my school wants me around.” There are names people give when you say that– loner, comes to mind. I don’t wish to seem critical of society but, really, nicknames don’t help in a situation like this. I know what it’s like, and I’m sure lots of other people do too. You feel like you can’t talk to anyone, that maybe the world just isn’t right? So did I.
So, I left them behind. Before they could walk away, I would, alone. I didn’t care anymore about trying to fit in, and in the process I only set myself further apart from them all. I won’t tell you it was easy; it wasn’t, it hurt– a lot. My social exile only really got worse when the area I would isolate myself in became- well, we used the word infested– occupied by first years.
A friend of mine, alas not a friend I talked to a lot back then, started talking to them in boredom, and I started to get to know them. That didn’t help. People started asking why I was hanging around with first years. “Maybe it’s because you lot aren’t helping the ‘hang out with people your own age’ scenario.” No, I didn’t say that. I ignored them. I made a silent pledge, after tom-foolery got out of hand, not to use violence. It made the most sense, then.
And when the bullies split... well, they got bored then. One of them, in his boredom, found me and the first years. Third year was almost over, he was anxious because of the Junior Cert, bored because his friends weren’t there, confused because he thought he was supposed to hate me. And he kicked me. He was sitting down, and he aimed high. He got me in the thigh. I kicked him back. It was a natural reflex. My eye caught the glance of the crowd around us. No, it wasn’t really a fight. It was tension. He kicked again. This time, I stopped myself. He kicked a third time and nearly did some serious damage (I don’t think I need to explain further what I mean by that).Then he stopped himself. Guilt.
I sent him away with a message that day– tell the others that if they don’t sort out their problems with me, then I’ll have a teacher sort them out for them. That did the trick. See, these people are my friends again. They all apologised, they all feel bad about what happened, and they have made me feel more welcome than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I still ask myself though– why did they have to leave me alone like that? Why did they hate me?
By: writerboy
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