All of you know my sob story, as it either has been, or will be, published in the IN paper for all to see: 

As pathetic as it sounds, I was a victim of girl bullying. In fact, the bully was my best friend – now ex-best friend, of course. 

She delivered a stinging slap to my cheek in front of everyone else during recess. Humiliated and utterly taken aback, I ran away crying. I went back to class after recess and returned to my seat beside her, eyes sore and red from crying. She behaved like nothing had happened. I was so confused!

I went home that day upset. After I told my mum, she called up the school and told them what happened. A few days later, the discipline master sat her and I down for a talk, and asked her to apologise to me over a handshake. She smiled sweetly and asked the teacher: “Can I hug her instead?” I was daft enough to believe that she was truly sorry.

The months that followed were pure torture.

Rumours about me, such as me committing theft and stealing someone’s boyfriend spread like wildfire, nasty notes criticizing me and insulting my personality or appearance were left on my desk, my closest friends had turned against me, I was constantly spammed with hate messages over Facebook and my blog, insulted and humiliated 24/7 and I spent my recesses alone in the girls’ toilet, reading a storybook while I waited for the bell to sound and I could go back to class. School was a nightmare; a living hell, and I found any excuse I could just to miss school. I was simply too much of a weakling to stand up for myself.

The teachers knew what was going on, but they didn’t care. The most the discipline master did was promise punishment on my aggressor, but he didn’t take any action. The school counselor simply told me to ignore them.

The ordeal was finally over when I was posted to a different class from my bully this year. However, the bullying had already done its damage. I’m distrustful of girls and whenever I see two people whispering nearby, the first thing that comes to my mind is “Oh my gosh, what did I do? What are they talking about me?”. 

Well… As much as I wish that it is, sadly, the ordeal is not over, and it will never be. It has left scars, many emotional scars, that will forever be reminding me, “Claire, you’re a weakling – you weren’t even strong to enough to just stand up for yourself, against that stupid, fat, bitch. You let yourself get trampled upon just like that, just like shit. You weren’t even strong enough to stand up and just walk away from it all.”

And whenever I am reminded of the whole incident, I am reminded that I’m a weakling.

What scars they left behind, you ask. Let me enlighten you. 

1. Paranoia 
Every time I see two people whispering nearby, I immediatetly think “what are they talking about me?”

2. Trust 
I am now unable to trust girls much. Always with whichever girl I’m with, even with my best friend Ashley, when I confide or let out my secret, there’s this doubt lingering over my head, causing me to think ‘what if she becomes like that ‘best friend’ of mine in secondary 2?’. It scares me so much. I don’t want to feel this way, I don’t want to doubt my best friends, but I cannot help it. It kills me.

3. Grudge. 
I still hold a grudge against everyone who was in my class in secondary two – those who spited me openly, those who hated on me for the sake of hating on me or to ‘join in’, those who insulted me, even those who stood by the sides to watch. Today, I asked Amir, one of my best friends in secondary one, and now someone I talk to often in secondary three, but insulted me and slandered me in secondary two, why he did what he did. He claimed that he doesn’t remember doing so. This feeling in my pit… Undescribable but unbearable. I felt like throwing up. I was this close to flipping his table over and yelling at him. But no, I didn’t. Why? Because, once again, I’m too much of a weakling to.
I still hate the girl who started this all.

I hate her. 
For the first time in my entire life, I’m so sure that I hate somebody. Hate is a strong word I’ve never used against anyone before. 
I hate her for she ruined my life. 
No, she did not make me any stronger. 
She just made me hide better.  

No, wait – I don’t hate HER. 
I hate myself.
I hate myself for not being able to stand up to her.
I hate myself for allowing myself to be treated as a ragdoll.
I hate myself for not being able to put it all behind me.  

So yeah. Although I have claimed to have put this whole incident behind me, how adversely it has affected me refuses to let me forget about it all. I’m pretty much screwed right now. 

Kudos for life, huh. 



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