I’ve been digging in relationships and lifestyle that I’ve forgotten one part of my life. I don’t expose my past unless I’m comfortable. Like many others, I suffered minor depression and anxiety. The story goes back in early 2000’s. When I was a little girl, my mother, being the sexist she is, forbid me from having guy friends. In her twisted belief, she assumes boys will rape me if I become close to them. My so-called ex-friend, Bonnie, was friends with my former archenemy. Unknown, I wasn’t aware of his existence nor their friendship. Because of what I’ve said about being forbid from talking to the opposite sex, I was blamed for their break-up. Being nine years of age and hearing someone vow to curse hatred upon yourself, you would think it’ll last for a while.
The bullying lasted half of my lifetime in elementary/middle school. Every day and moment, the guy would target me as someone he despises. I was silent most of the time. It never occurred me that the bullying was serious nor I had any thoughts of hating the guy. I let him torture me emotionally for many years. I wouldn’t call the constant harassment the most unbearable I’ve received. The majority of bullied victims would come home and cry to sleep. I wasn’t that kid. My mentality was incredibly strong. It wasn’t until somewhere around the grades of 7th and 8th. I can’t remember the exact age, but I know those ages were very traumatic.
Aside from him stealing my journals and spreading it wide through the entire 8th grade class, I’ve been through much worse. It’s far more than being physically or emotionally beaten. At age 13 to 14, I heard him telling me that I deserve to die. I am well aware anyone can say that and nothing would happen. This one doesn’t involved the internet. It was done old fashioned way. I can remember that bastard’s cold hands quickly wrapped around my neck. He then applied slow pressure. My little teenage mind was ready for death. This was during recess and in an empty schoolyard. Classrooms were open, but no classmate nor superior was anywhere to be found.
Five minutes passed and it was over. He somehow had the heart to not kill me completely, but was willing enough to try. I question his motive. But it manage to trigger my anxiety counterparts for 10 years. Every guy I have a crush on, I always fear the worst. Relationships weren’t even to begin with. All of my exes shrugged off and blatantly said I should deal with it. Having anxiety isn’t something I can just deal with. It’s horrible to have them. As far as Depression goes, it’s very minor. I hardly ever dealt with suicidal thoughts and self harming. However, after that almost death experience, I hit rock bottom and constantly want to end my life on the same day. I didn’t harm myself. I just want to die.
Luckily, there were two acquaintances nearby and reassure that everything will be better. It was a nice comfort, but I knew hell was going to follow me for the next few years. In high school, he did the same but it wasn’t as traumatic as when I was younger. The worst part in my bullying experience is no help was given. The only solution they offer is to ignore. Fight with silence. That’s exactly what I did. But I had to endure 8 years of torture. My former archenemy stopped the bullying in 10th grade. A golf coach of mine forced him be nice to me, otherwise, he wasn’t allowed in the classroom as long as I’m inside. I don’t know if that hit his epiphany to become a nicer person. It sure worked because he decide to put on a mask and turn into someone different, hoping I won’t recognize him.
Unfortunately, I still can recognize him even with the mask on. I was reminded of all the horror and emotional damage he put upon me. No apologies could ever fix the damages. The importance of my story is I was the stronger and bigger person. I didn’t have to fight with fire. I stayed silent and endure the pain. However, the scars and emotional damage never left me. I still carry anxieties with me wherever I go. No therapy nor meditation was given. The proper medicine is laughter and love. It’s what I use to carry on for myself. If none available, my voice is still heard through writing.