I thought i'd contribute to this trend of School Blogs I seem to be reading. It might be helpful to somebody. I'm 25, and I have three wonderful daughters and a wife I care for. But things were not always so rosy. I warn you now; this is quite lengthy, so I don't blame you if you don't read on.
I suffered greatly in school. I was the punching bag, no joke. I was forced into thinking suicide was the best choice and it had irreversible damage on both my personality and physical body.
Bullying often has no rhyme or reason, and that's also true in my experience. I was fat, intelligent and had an optimistic outlook, because until I was the age of 12, I'd never had any negative experiences. It started badly when instead of buying me a new pair of shoes for Physical Education, something I never enjoyed to begin with, my brother gave me an old, but only lightly used pair of his own shoes. They were bright yellow. Several of my classmates who were Emo, and although I have nothing against Emos as a trend, those who studied at our school were massive, entitled arseholes. They were the popular kids, not the outcasts. They were the ones getting all the girls and doing drugs and making the trends in school. Those Guys had a new thing, they called gaudy or atrocious things aesthetically "Gory". And so it was "Gory Yellow Shoes" that they called me. It stuck in a big way. The next week most students in my own year were calling me as such, even those I'd considered friends.
Soon after, it escalated from playful teasing into full on abuse. It started with a shove or two in the hallway. A jab in the arm, name calling. Then it got worse. My friends distanced themselves to not get picked on and I began to feel isolated. The bullying escalated further. Beatings from multiple students, others stealing my things. Then it was painful, physical abuse. I was burnt at least a dozen times using a science class bunsen burner. My teachers began to refer to me as "Gory" and I was threatened with knives, several of which held to my throat. I recieved black eyes, and I was shoved down the stairs a few times. I broke my leg once as well. I came in with a cast and a few people smacked it with a bat. No remorse, no empathy. They threatened my life and one teacher even ignored the fact I was in their class. He didn't look at me or call my name in any regard. I took notes and I did tests, but that was it.
I was damaged. By the age of 14, I was beginning to change emotionally. My family was never there for me as they all had their own stuff to deal with. My father worked a lot and my mother prioritised my older brother, the golden child of our family. I began to talk to myself a lot, and I drew a lot. I drew in my room and at school, more and more until I was the highest achiever in the fine arts in our school. It didn't change how popular I was, not one bit. I talked to myself still when I was alone.
Then someone spoke back to me. That's right, I was literally going mad. I saw several doctors on my own concern and it took over a year before I had a genuine diagnosis - Dissociative Identity Disorder. Dissociation is something even I don't understand all that well. It means I look into my life as somewhat of an outsider, like I'm watching a movie with myself as the main character. I developed more symptoms; Chronic Insomnia, weight loss due to an eating disorder, and I began to experience strange things. Then I used to find notes, or I would become conscious in strange places. It came to my attention that I was not the only person residing in my body. You may know DID as a different, more mainstreamed name; Multiple Personality Disorder. One part of DID is the actual manifestation of other 'alters' in one body. They have their own names, mannerisms, ages and personalities all their own. When I take information in, they do as well. I began to change a lot too. I didn't recognise myself in the mirror, I forgot things a lot and I became detached from my own emotions. I felt less and less about anything.
I began to rebel. My madness changed my persona, I was getting agitated by what was happening and I began to lash out. I still had next to no friends, but at least I was well equipped to deal with what would ensue. I no longer cared about the bullying, it was a lesser, annoying matter. As people insulted me, I insulted them back. As people shoved me, I retaliated. People began to talk; I was called into several of my teachers offices. They disrespected me as much as other students, so I didn't think much of their authority. I told them what I thought and walked off.
Then I got into fights. Proper fights and not just little scuffles. I took out all of my frustration on those who had wronged me. I felt the powerful, eye-opening, releasing power of vengeance. I was stronger than I realised too. I kicked and I punched and I acted animal like. No respectful kicking and then jumping back. I pounced on them and unleashed all that I had. I was on top of them and punched their faces, stamped on their kidneys and smirked like a psychopath at the joy I felt. The pain I felt in my fists was glorious. I no longer felt anything like empathy at that point, what was happening to me had ripped that emotion from me.
I was suspended for a month. I deserved it really, but they couldn't expel me after letting other students put me through such raw abuse for years. I finally stood up for myself and they basically obliged. I started to feel empty though. I had my revenge and people had a renewed respect for me - but at what cost? I still had no real friends. MY family didn't pay much attention either. So when I came back to school, the bullying had stopped. People were calling me by my given name and a lot seemed to have changed in my absence. Cliques had changes, groups had grown apart. Apparently some of them were only friends because they enjoyed bullying others, especially me. Of course there were other victims, but I was self-absorbed enough to not care. I began to mess with others. I became cold and calculating, a machine of pure logic, with a cold, bitter shell. I admit that I may have had friends if I had compassion for others - but no one had given me any either, my DID was still preventing me from feeling that compassion. Until school was over, people avoided me and looked at me with a satisfying glint of fear and loathing.
I still came out of school with a full sheet of A* grades. I had nothing else to do but study anyway. I eased down. I became more relaxed when school was over. I didn't need to see those people again. I graduated at an art college nearby with first class Honours and met my soon to be wife. We had kids, I started a business as a graphic designer and life couldn't be better. I own my own house and I'm not in thousands of pounds of debt.
However - the story isn't technically over. I was arrested a little while ago. I met one of the bullies, one of the ringleaders in the street over a year ago. He hadn't changed much, still clinging to that emo persona that had done him so well. He spotted me immediately and started to call me names. He knew I had kids and told me that I had wasted my life. I punched him - It was my first reaction to both a personal insult and a reference to my children as a waste of life. He called the police, tried to get me changed but after hearing the full story - they kind of knew he had it coming. Although they warned me that it's the only time i'd get off for it. I don't get angry or physically abusive for any reason now, but he was kind of special case.
So there ya go, my decent into madness and lift into bliss. I'm still mad, but it's managed. I also only sleep for about 4 hours a day still, but I get a lot done - so there is a pro there somewhere.
I suffered greatly in school. I was the punching bag, no joke. I was forced into thinking suicide was the best choice and it had irreversible damage on both my personality and physical body.
Bullying often has no rhyme or reason, and that's also true in my experience. I was fat, intelligent and had an optimistic outlook, because until I was the age of 12, I'd never had any negative experiences. It started badly when instead of buying me a new pair of shoes for Physical Education, something I never enjoyed to begin with, my brother gave me an old, but only lightly used pair of his own shoes. They were bright yellow. Several of my classmates who were Emo, and although I have nothing against Emos as a trend, those who studied at our school were massive, entitled arseholes. They were the popular kids, not the outcasts. They were the ones getting all the girls and doing drugs and making the trends in school. Those Guys had a new thing, they called gaudy or atrocious things aesthetically "Gory". And so it was "Gory Yellow Shoes" that they called me. It stuck in a big way. The next week most students in my own year were calling me as such, even those I'd considered friends.
Soon after, it escalated from playful teasing into full on abuse. It started with a shove or two in the hallway. A jab in the arm, name calling. Then it got worse. My friends distanced themselves to not get picked on and I began to feel isolated. The bullying escalated further. Beatings from multiple students, others stealing my things. Then it was painful, physical abuse. I was burnt at least a dozen times using a science class bunsen burner. My teachers began to refer to me as "Gory" and I was threatened with knives, several of which held to my throat. I recieved black eyes, and I was shoved down the stairs a few times. I broke my leg once as well. I came in with a cast and a few people smacked it with a bat. No remorse, no empathy. They threatened my life and one teacher even ignored the fact I was in their class. He didn't look at me or call my name in any regard. I took notes and I did tests, but that was it.
I was damaged. By the age of 14, I was beginning to change emotionally. My family was never there for me as they all had their own stuff to deal with. My father worked a lot and my mother prioritised my older brother, the golden child of our family. I began to talk to myself a lot, and I drew a lot. I drew in my room and at school, more and more until I was the highest achiever in the fine arts in our school. It didn't change how popular I was, not one bit. I talked to myself still when I was alone.
Then someone spoke back to me. That's right, I was literally going mad. I saw several doctors on my own concern and it took over a year before I had a genuine diagnosis - Dissociative Identity Disorder. Dissociation is something even I don't understand all that well. It means I look into my life as somewhat of an outsider, like I'm watching a movie with myself as the main character. I developed more symptoms; Chronic Insomnia, weight loss due to an eating disorder, and I began to experience strange things. Then I used to find notes, or I would become conscious in strange places. It came to my attention that I was not the only person residing in my body. You may know DID as a different, more mainstreamed name; Multiple Personality Disorder. One part of DID is the actual manifestation of other 'alters' in one body. They have their own names, mannerisms, ages and personalities all their own. When I take information in, they do as well. I began to change a lot too. I didn't recognise myself in the mirror, I forgot things a lot and I became detached from my own emotions. I felt less and less about anything.
I began to rebel. My madness changed my persona, I was getting agitated by what was happening and I began to lash out. I still had next to no friends, but at least I was well equipped to deal with what would ensue. I no longer cared about the bullying, it was a lesser, annoying matter. As people insulted me, I insulted them back. As people shoved me, I retaliated. People began to talk; I was called into several of my teachers offices. They disrespected me as much as other students, so I didn't think much of their authority. I told them what I thought and walked off.
Then I got into fights. Proper fights and not just little scuffles. I took out all of my frustration on those who had wronged me. I felt the powerful, eye-opening, releasing power of vengeance. I was stronger than I realised too. I kicked and I punched and I acted animal like. No respectful kicking and then jumping back. I pounced on them and unleashed all that I had. I was on top of them and punched their faces, stamped on their kidneys and smirked like a psychopath at the joy I felt. The pain I felt in my fists was glorious. I no longer felt anything like empathy at that point, what was happening to me had ripped that emotion from me.
I was suspended for a month. I deserved it really, but they couldn't expel me after letting other students put me through such raw abuse for years. I finally stood up for myself and they basically obliged. I started to feel empty though. I had my revenge and people had a renewed respect for me - but at what cost? I still had no real friends. MY family didn't pay much attention either. So when I came back to school, the bullying had stopped. People were calling me by my given name and a lot seemed to have changed in my absence. Cliques had changes, groups had grown apart. Apparently some of them were only friends because they enjoyed bullying others, especially me. Of course there were other victims, but I was self-absorbed enough to not care. I began to mess with others. I became cold and calculating, a machine of pure logic, with a cold, bitter shell. I admit that I may have had friends if I had compassion for others - but no one had given me any either, my DID was still preventing me from feeling that compassion. Until school was over, people avoided me and looked at me with a satisfying glint of fear and loathing.
I still came out of school with a full sheet of A* grades. I had nothing else to do but study anyway. I eased down. I became more relaxed when school was over. I didn't need to see those people again. I graduated at an art college nearby with first class Honours and met my soon to be wife. We had kids, I started a business as a graphic designer and life couldn't be better. I own my own house and I'm not in thousands of pounds of debt.
However - the story isn't technically over. I was arrested a little while ago. I met one of the bullies, one of the ringleaders in the street over a year ago. He hadn't changed much, still clinging to that emo persona that had done him so well. He spotted me immediately and started to call me names. He knew I had kids and told me that I had wasted my life. I punched him - It was my first reaction to both a personal insult and a reference to my children as a waste of life. He called the police, tried to get me changed but after hearing the full story - they kind of knew he had it coming. Although they warned me that it's the only time i'd get off for it. I don't get angry or physically abusive for any reason now, but he was kind of special case.
So there ya go, my decent into madness and lift into bliss. I'm still mad, but it's managed. I also only sleep for about 4 hours a day still, but I get a lot done - so there is a pro there somewhere.
