Letters From Lockdown 65: Anonymous

Trigger Warning: Bullying, Suicide, Abuse

To the people who believe that the term bulling is “childish“ and “deserves to stay in secondary school”,

You make my skin crawl,
My heart break,
My palms sweat,
My stomach heave,
My vision turn red as I shake with anger.

You remind me of the adults
Who told me,
When I needed them the most,
When I was helpless,
That I was over dramatic and over emotional,
To get over it.
When I cried myself to sleep at night,
Sat on the floor of freezing playgrounds alone and
Feeling my heart turn numb,

Told me
That I was the problem.

Clearly, you were not bullied like I was.
Because if you were, you would never say such words.

You would know what it was like to have the flashbacks,
To wake up from panic attacks and nightmares
Where you can’t escape the helplessness.
Cage bars which vanish into thin air
But come back every single time.

What it’s like to not be able to walk around your home town
Stay trapped inside for weeks on end
Just in case you run into one of them.

What it’s like
To look at yourself in the mirror every morning
And not be able to ignore the beast they created out of you;
The acne ridden face, the bossy personality, the know it all, the snitch, the problem.
A person they just wish wasn’t in their lives.
They would celebrate if you were gone.

You would know that bullying isn’t childish or something left in secondary school
It’s a precurser.
Something that sets you up for toxic friendships and abusive relationships
It destroys your self esteem
And let’s the next abuser straight in,
Even if it is just the voice in your mind
Repeating all the names they called you.

You would know all these things.
But you don’t.

I should challenge you,
But I stay quiet.

Because I know what it’s like to have the fire beaten out of you.
Be crushed until you don’t recognise yourself anymore.
What it’s like to lose trust in your sanity.
Question every statement you say out loud.
To submit to the abuse because there is nothing you can do.
To not be able to fight anymore
Because of years and years of fighting
Where no one came to your rescue.
To be broken.

From,

The overdramatic, over emotional child, whose story should be left in secondary school.

Categories: Letters From Lockdown

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