The target: Diary of a bullied kid

Sometimes, I sit and wonder how someone's life could be so changeable. In my very early childhood, I was friendly to a fault, making 'friends' and charming adults wherever I went. The friendships never got off the ground (for reasons I never grasped) but it never mattered too much to me - strangers were just friends I hadn't met yet.

I don't know what happened. 

One day, in Year 2 of primary school, I went from a well-regarded kid to the one everyone mocked. I never understood. I couldn't. What was wrong with me? What had I done to deserve the mocking words?

I sat alone on the playground, wishing the earth would swallow me up. 

If my early teenage years could be described in an allegory, I'd say I was the odd sock everyone has permanently lingering in the laundry basket. A perfectly acceptable garment in theory but one that - without its perfect match - was never anyone's first choice.

Heart wounded from my experiences, the world felt an unbearably hostile place. And like sharks drawn to blood, my peers sensed my fear. 

I wandered the hallway with a cower in my step. I was never quite sure where would be safest - the crowds of the playground, the bustle of the canteen, the year-group designated area or none. My instinct was to keep moving, never to linger in one place for more than I needed to. It was almost as if marching through the corridors with the illusion of purpose would put the bullies off. However, the sickening truth was that I couldn't rely on safety anywhere. Eyes burned into me wherever I went, mocking jeers and laughter followed. An avalanche of unkind comments, scrutiny and knowing looks - I was the butt of a joke I neither knew of nor understood.

It was a constant drip drip drip of nastiness, wearing me down and leaving me longing for a tiny shred of kindness. 

Every lunchtime, I ran the gauntlet. I sat at the lunch tables alone, trying inconspicuously to eat and keep an eye out for bullies without giving as much away. 

It didn't work. As a designated target, I was easy prey. No friends or allies in my year to fight my corner, so many named and nameless bullies invaded my peace of mind. As one year group's worth of bullies left school, a new set appeared. My reputation was strong enough that I'd get new students jeering at me too. Who knew how they knew? I'd never know.

I kept my head down. Turn the other cheek, Jesus said. I followed Christian guidance to the letter. I stayed sweet. I stayed kind. 

It didn't matter. I was the one with the 'perfect life'. My dad was 'rich', my parents were together, I got as close to perfect grades as expected in a high school (as opposed to the grammar school my parents had wished for me). My life was 'easy'! I didn't deserve compassion! 

Of course, I couldn't tell my peers that my life wasn't what it seemed. That I went home every night to a household so tense, I barely dared speak. Waiting and dreading the next fight between my parents and the mediation I would have to do after. The potential upset over my less than perfect grades. Live in vain hope that I didn't make a small mistake that made my dad mad. My greatest joy was the lonely solace of my room and my out-of-date computer, where my few firm friends 'resided'. Existence felt so painful it felt like there was a lump of coal in my chest. 

So I lived as a ghost. My words died in my mouth. Numbness was my natural state.  Friends weren't for me. I tried, over and over. But they always turned on me. Ended up dropping me. I was toxic. I didn't know why but it had to be true. Ugly and undesirable. I didn't deserve them. I wasn't good enough for them. 

If this existence sounds bleak, you're right, it was. I was an intensely awkward, very quiet child who wanted kindness and companionship but who feared that long-lasting relationships were beyond my grasp. Everyday, I functioned on autopilot, robotically going from class to class. I buried my nose in my schoolwork, doing my best to distract from my overwhelming sense of misery. I watched the clock, desperate for the school day to be over as soon as possible. Likewise, break times were a trial rather than a joy. Socializing was an alien concept. 

I was an alien. A misfit. Only a suitable friend for a small handful of other misfits. 

But life didn't stay that way. 

In Year 9, I reached rock bottom and decided things had to change. 

Taking the confidence I had learnt from my online friendships, I cooked up a plan. I transformed myself overnight. And, in the words of my teachers, like a phoenix, I resurrected myself. In just a few months, I became a class clown others loved to laugh with.

But that's a story for another day.