lol bullies
I have a cleft palate / harelip, so obviously i got bullied all the time as a kid. but i'm fucking awesome so it didn't really matter. now i look a bit like jesus. \o/ (jesus with a cleft palate that is...)
( Shiodome has realised numbers in names aren't cool., Thu 14 May 2009, 0:25, 2 replies)

Sage Scottish advice
Growing up I was the killer combination of being short, bespeckled and crap at sports. It’s as though the bullying fairy had shat in my crib at birth.

At first things weren’t too bad because almost everyone’s short and weedy at first (with the exception of William Dale, who was nearly six foot by the time he was 13 and built like a brick shithouse – lovely chap mind you). But when puberty hit life started to get very miserable indeed.

To compound things I was stuck in a boarding school so it went on all day and all night. I assembled a motley collection of bruises, wrist burns (and one breakage) endless shattered specs, far too many ‘Deep Heat on the bollocks’ sessions and a broken tooth by the time I was 14. I’m only glad I didn’t live in a country with easy access to guns otherwise I’d have been stalking the school halls with an AK47 in one hand and the scrotums of two or three of the worse perpetrators in the other*.

Now parents will tell you to just ignore the bullies and they’ll go away. After several years working towards my PhD in the school of getting the shit kicked out of you I can attest this is bullshit. “Just keep out of their way,” is also not good advice when you’re sharing a dormitory room with them for 30 weeks of the year.

The school chaplin suggested prayer, which I tried as well. Either god doesn’t listen to prayers or he takes active pleasure in watching gangs of kids beating up their peers – and after many years of thought and a thorough reading of the bible I suspect the latter.

Thankfully it was my great uncle Jim who provided the answer. I’d gone up to Scotland to stay with him for the first time in years and he’d noticed that the ‘bonny wee lad’ he’d last seen five years ago had turned into a quivering lack of self confidence in a perpetual state of fear. After some patient questioning and two large whiskey toddies I unburdened myself to him and he thought for a while, puffing on an unfiltered Senior Service, before giving me the answer.

“It’s going to hurt for a wee bit but ye’ll have to hammer the cunts.”

He explained that he’d had similar problems in the army in the Second World War. He had joined up in 1940 and, being bookish sort and a homosexual to boot, had suffered similar torments. In the end he told me it drove him almost insane but he got the advice he had given me from a corporal and it had worked. He fought back, fought dirty and never backed down unless unconscious, which had happened more than once.

He then spent the next week inculcating me in the art of fighting dirty. I learnt the value of bollock grabbing, instep crunching, long fingernails and elbow strikes to the face. It was kind of like Karate Kid without the boring 'wax on, wax off' rubbish and substituting a wizened Asian man with a gay, perpetually drunk Scotsman (which to my mind would have made a better film.)

As the next term started I used his advice. Once the bullying started I hit out and didn’t stop hitting, biting and scratching until they ran off or I couldn’t get up again. Yes, there were many times when I got the shit kicked out of me, because all the fighting in the world won’t help you when it’s five to one, but I didn’t mind it so much. There was none of the sick misery I’d felt as a victim before, more just a stoic acceptance that it was needed and a sneaking pride in my ability to pick myself up and go out and do it again.

It’s remarkable how quickly the bullies faded away. Most of the scum who bully are cowards deep down, that’s why most of them do it – to prove to themselves that they aren’t, and if there are other kids out there who won’t hurt them they’ll move on to new and easier game. By the end of the term it had stopped all together and I was well on the way to getting some confidence back.

I’ve never had to fight since, apart from one incident on my 29th birthday but that was self-defence, and have grown up to hate bullies and all they stand for, be it in schools, the workplace or wearing a policeman’s uniform. If my goddaughter ever has problems I’ll pass on Jim’s advice with pleasure, just as I’ve passed it on here, and I urge you all to do the same.

Apols for the length but it’s a hot button issue for me.

*The day after Columbine I said as much in the pub and was surprised at how many people agreed. Thank goodness for gun control.
(paxvobiscum, Thu 14 May 2009, 0:03, 8 replies)

I have a problem.
Secondary school, yada, bullying, yada yada, sexual interference, yada yada yada, completely fucked psychologically, whatever.

HOWEVER:

Recently, the guy who made my life a living hell got in touch on Arsebook. Couldn't believe he had the brass fucking neck. Asked him couple of questions: yup, it's the same cunt I've been looking for for 30 years. Why have I been looking for him? Not for hugs and kisses, you can be sure of that. Now, if he turns up having been bleached and put feet first through a bark chipper, they'll go through his recent contacts and I'm fucked.

Unless someone fancies combining a holiday in Marbella with a whack job. £25 and a bottle of bison grass vodka sound OK?
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Wed 13 May 2009, 23:57, 4 replies)

I went to a relatively good -
regular high school - a mix and mash of all corners of society, my best mate nicking the ethanol from the chem lab to supplement his cider, my other best mate supplementing his boredom slowly filling a certain butt of jokes bag with water, and or bunson burners...

And I - I was the but end of gay jokes and loved it... until one day my nonchalant rebuttal could come to nothing much more than a fight outside school...

it turned into nothing... (of course)

No those are the stories that repeat themselves across the countries even worlds schools on a daily basis...

Mine involved Cathy - she was tall, and curvy, she had a womans body whilst I still had yet to double my pube count...

She wasn't too happy with this attention - and seeing as I was nearest, and the only one talking about it to her... I got a fist - proper full on face punch... man... I recall today shooting backwards - scuffling backwards in my size 4's... devestation...

I had been done over... we never spoke again, she was a nice twisted girl I was just a bit too cheeky... and there was a clash...

I used to get punched by a chav quite often, it was like recieving a kiss from a cow - although I doubt I would have admited that to him.

He threatened like the country side race to beat me if I beat him in 100 meters - I think he was half way back when I broke the tape...

A few have turned themselfs around - living lives, working - not doing jobs I wouldnt do, but I guess I have the luxury to not... I blame the families and the school somewhat.

To much talking... fades out it should make sense.
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Wed 13 May 2009, 23:56, Reply)

First and foremost, I will say this:
Bullies are cunts. No exceptions. There is never, ever an excuse for persecuting someone and, if you've bullied someone, you'll get yours. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you will.

My story is not as unpleasant or unsettling as some of them told here, but it's something that affects me still today from time to time; when I get a bit low, it all comes back to me. I will admit here and now this is a pearoast with bits added. It's also very, very long.

When I was a smaller Maladicta of about eleven, there was another new kid who joined our class at school. However, he was the total opposite of Stalker Boy, in that for some reason I still don't fully understand, he immediately took against me and made it his life's work to make me feel as miserable and unwelcome within about ten feet of him as possible. And by some horribly perverse twist of fate, I had a little girlie crush on him (do you ever wish that you could go back in time and slap your younger self silly? I do). He knew this all too well, and used it to his advantage to make things as difficult as possible for me. We shall call him Luke, for that was his name.

He quickly became extremely popular with the teachers, for as well as being "charming" and sweet to all outward appearances, he was a straight-A student who always did his homework and never got anything below 80% in an exam. He also became extremely popular with the girls in my year, not because he was attractive (he looked like an anorexic mole, or Rachelswipe's starving baby bird description) but because he was apparently very good at giving advice and was a good laugh. Over the course of the next few years, he managed to turn the entire school year, bar a couple of people (Stalker Boy, clearly, used to switch sides and would always delight in telling me what he'd said), but in the end they'd always cave to pressure and end up joining in.

Luke specialised not in physical violence, mainly because he was a weed of epic proportions, but he was a master at messing with your head. His favourite tricks were to steal my homework out of my desk or out of my books to make me look stupid when I came to hand it in, before saying "Oooo she's not done it, you should punish her, sir", hiding my books and homework planner (which if you lost for more than about a day every single teacher would throw a shitfit about), hacking my network user (in reality just leaning over my shoulder when I typed in my password, I suppose) and copying all my stuff onto the common drive (not that I had anything offensive on there, which didn't deter him because he just made textfiles saying "I, [Maladicta], love [History Teacher] and want his babies!!111" which got me into trouble), claimed to have hacked into my (locked) former blog and read all my secrets, yet was unable to produce evidence, repeatedly "went out" with (in other words, held hands with constantly, this was Year 9) my slaggy ex-best "friend" simply to mess with my head, and it was him who announced that I was "in love" with my history teacher to the entire school at the swimming gala, inventing a girlfriend who was "a model", when really her picture was just cut out of Sugar (this had no effect other than making me laugh at how far he was willing to go, including setting up a fake email account for her to yell at me off), in between telling me that he and no one else would ever love me or want to have sex with me because I was so fat and useless and ugly.

Why didn't I tell anyone? Because I knew I'd get no sympathy from anyone and because if I told any teachers, it would be my word against his and I already knew what a capable and manipulative liar he was. All it would have taken was a couple of tears from him, and I would be the bad guy. It just wasn't worth it.

By Year 10, then, I was a wreck; no self-confidence at all, virtually no friends (unless you count Stalker Boy, and I don't), no life outside of school other than the ones I made online (who were a great help to me, and I'm still in touch with a lot of them). I'm merely focused on one thing: getting him to leave me alone and to finally quit hurting me. By this stage, everyone and their dog had MSN and he'd bugged me on it for some time, not least when anyone I liked (he always seemed to find out) got a girlfriend, and one day, after enjoying taunting me because I was "on the shelf, where you'll always be" I finally snapped and told him he was a manipulative, twisted bastard who didn't deserve to live, and that I hated him and hoped he died. The ensuing row continued for about five minutes, with him mocking me, saying I "always have to be the tragic victim" and telling me how pathetic I was to even think anyone cared about me. And finally, I got a backbone. BLOCK.

This was just before the start of Year 11, and by then, something had snapped inside me and I was refusing to take any more of his crap. I blocked every single email address he'd ever used to annoy me, deleted him off my MSN and made it clear to anyone who talked to me that if they added him into the conversation, I would do the same to them. He found ways to get around this, like getting his cousin's friend, who just happened to be a lesbian (he was trying to convince me that the reason no one would go out with me was because I was secretly gay) to chat me up over MSN, and when he was mentioned "he just wants to be your friend". I ignored him at school to the point of not even registering he'd said anything to me, and not even acknowledging his existence by the end of the year. Gradually, I felt better, and this was made even better one evening when I was talking to a newish friend of mine online (hello Pete) and he said "look, Luke wants me to add him in, if he says anything mean you can leave straight away but he says it's important". I reluctantly agree, and he says (and this is why I hate people who type like this over the internets - why type like a retard if you're supposed to be so intelligent?) "after GCSE, im movin 2 Canada!!!".

One victory lap of the house later, I sit down at the PC again and type "oh that's nice."

Of course, as soon as word got out that he was leaving, there was teenage drama aplenty: girls clinging to him begging him not to leave, saying they'd miss him soooooo much and that he had to come back to visit, and then telling me I was "heartless" for saying I wouldn't miss "lovely" Luke.

Finally, he was gone, and life went on like it had done before, but with a lot less angsting, bar a letter he sent me (address courtesy - surprise surprise - of Stalker Boy), saying that he had only ever picked on me "because u were different" and trying to justify his actions by saying "I didn't know how 2 treat u other than 2 be mean 2 u and I still think ur bein harsh cuz u won't talk 2 me" (he actually wrote like this, in posh fountain pen, it was quite surreal). I think part of it was that we were all growing up, and bar the odd mention of his name, and Stalker Boy mooning over how much he missed him (he fancied him, I later discovered), things were pretty much as good as they could be. He came back to England for the last week we were all at school and true to form, picked up exactly where he left off, meaning I got a lot of texts from him wanting to "meet up" and saying he couldn't wait to see me on Friday. I don't mind admitting I ignored him, just as I used to, that Friday, and never said a word to him the entire day: not that he would have needed it, being surrounded by his entourage yet again. And so, I left the school confident that he would never see me or be able to hurt me again.

In the intervening two years, my ex-best friend (who I refer to here as Slag of the Universe, because, well, she was), had taken his place as ringleader (most likely being told what to do and say by him, since she had the most contact with him). I found out through a variety of methods that she was spitting venom about me behind my back (while keeping up a façade of us still being bestest friends) - among other things picking on my driving skills (did I write off my car, bitch? No, that was you), my lack of sexytiem (could my first boyfriend not keep it up when confronted with me naked for the first time? No, that was you), the fact I refused to be set up with her latest victim boyfriend's ugly mate ("I'm not a charity case, fuck off!"), and the fact I got on well with my (female, sarcastic, Python fan and generally awesome) Latin teacher, which clearly meant I was a raving dyke. She was also livid that I'd made more of an effort to look nice for the lower sixth ball and - oh noes! - had got more compliments than her. This was what really kicked it off and she spent the next year systematically worming her way between me and any other friends I had, spreading her insidious poison and making sure everyone thought it was that I didn't like them trying to take her away from me. All the time still being sweetness and light to me to my face, although I could barely restrain myself from breaking hers, and whining "Why does Maladicta hate me?" to anyone who'd listen - mostly Stalker Boy, and even he was better company than her. The last time I saw her was her 18th birthday, when I didn't even acknowledge knowing it was that day, and have not spoken to her from that day to this. I hear she's engaged, and even though I try to forgive, it's hard to forget the two-faced bitch who said I'd die a virgin and told the whole school I'd told her I fancied her. It was also Slag of the Universe who, many years previously, had told Luke I fancied History Teacher, so I have no idea why I considered her a friend for years after that, let alone didn't cunt her in the fuck for saying that. As much as I try to rise above wishing ill on people, I seriously hope her fiancé jilts her for a woman who actually has norks and a personality that extends beyond being hilariously "random".

Two months after the end of school, quite late in the evening, I get several missed calls on my phone, all from "Stalker Boy Home". We still had dialup at the time, so I disconnect and call him back, figuring he wants to talk about our up and coming trip of nightmares to Spain (if there's ever another Holidays from Hell, I will talk about this too). I get his mum, who asks to talk to mine, and after about five minutes, mum puts her hand over the receiver and informs me in hushed tones that Luke is dead. The phone then gets passed to me, and all I hear is the sobbing of Stalker Boy, interspersed with odd words that sound like "forgive and forget" and "he never meant you any harm". Eventually he manages to tell me what happened, that there was an accident on some highway where he was living, and that the car was totalled. My first thought, I'm ashamed to say, was "Karma's a bitch", and it's a belief I continue to have to this day.

I'd like to say it's made me a better person, although I'm genuinely not sure: I have hangups, the same as anyone else and it has affected me in ways I still don't fully understand. Tell someone they're ugly, fat and useless and no one will ever love them for six years and they will believe it - trust me, I'm living proof of this. The thing I do to try and put it behind me is to look at the successes I've had: I got away from them, I went to a good uni, have a decent degree and a job I like (usually) that pays the bills, I moved away from my parents, which they were sure I'd never do, and sure, while Mr Maladicta and I are no longer together, we live together as best friends and it works well, much better than Slag of the Universe, who repaid her first boyfriend for his time by pouring a bottle of Matey through his letterbox one Friday evening and burning his favourite CD - he said the "bubble" had gone out of the relationship (read: "I've fucked you, you can go away now"). My life is infinitely better for having removed them from it (as I said in reply to another post "My Facebook block list is as long as Ron Jeremy's cock").

The best revenge is a happy life. Or a Gattling crossbow.
( Maladicta, Wed 13 May 2009, 23:42, 14 replies)

So yeah, a couple of QOTWs ago I posted this...
b3ta.com/questions/nightclubs/post402486

Today, me and Amanda went shopping. And then Dannii Minogue started giving her shit because X Factor is more popular or something, and she's noshing off Louis Walsh. I don't know. She just said shit and I was like "woah, you're totally bullying her". And then Dannii was like "I totally am" and I said "That's a bit nasty of you" and she agreed and apologised to Amanda and then we went home and had a threesome. And I spuffed on both of their tits. It was more awesome than last time. But I'm not going to sleep with Dannii again. Her face was too static for my liking.
( WHARRGARBL, Wed 13 May 2009, 23:34, 4 replies)

Slut!
I had a boyfriend who I loved dearly, when I was 13 . He was a really nice guy, as well as being very cute and popular. Well, one day his parents weren't home. He asked me to suck on his dick 'just for a few seconds'... if I really 'loved him'. The experiment lasted about twenty seconds. I got bored and he didn't ask me to finish. The next day at school was brutal. He had told his friends that I'd 'sucked him off' and by the afternoon everyone had heard it. From that day on he and I never spoke to each other and I was called a slut for the rest of the school year. I should have told everyone that his dick was about the size of my thumb, two inches long and he had not grown pubic hair yet....but I didn't. I wanted to hurt him in retaliation, tell him that his creepy father had tried to molest me on several occasions.... but I didn't. I could have ruined his father, who was a widely known and successful real estate agent....but I was afraid.
Those wounds festered for years but later when I was an adult, I'd occasionally run into someone from my grade 8 class. They seemed very happy to see me and stammered through their quick apologies, chalking it all up to their immaturity. I accepted all their apologies yet I sniggered inside at their discomfort.
I was in a fish & chip shop one day and who comes to my table to take my order? The worst girl in my class of all! Our uncomfortable recollection of each other turned into a great conversation. She asked if she could sit down with me to take her break. At this point I was at ease and so was she. We shared stories, laughed and vehemently cursed that guy's father. Then a funny thing happened. She leaned in close to me, looked deep into my eyes and told me she was so sorry for the hurt she caused me. Her apology felt genuine. I didn't snigger when she shared this: she became pregnant at 15 and never finished high school. When her break was over I left a generous tip. We smiled and waved at each other as I left. I think that was a good day for both of us.

(Apologies for lack of length, girth and pubic hair.)
(OGH, Wed 13 May 2009, 23:33, 2 replies)

I guess I had my fair share...
...of bullying at school. Nothing major but a few occasions made me quite sad for a short time :(

I now live 200 miles from where I went to school so I'm never likely to see or hear about any of the scrotes that were the perpetrators.

However, I now work in a school (not as a teacher) and most cathartic thing is being able to spot and 'deal' with any bullying I see going on.

Call it a power trip if you like but I like to think I'm doing some good in the small world that is my place of employment.

Best time of year atm as all the reprobates who have pissed away the last 5 years are cacking it over GCSE's whilst the nice kids who have kept their noses clean and heads down are 'reasonably' calm and relaxed.

Can't wait wait to get rid of the arsewipes in a couple of weeks and already looking forward to welcoming back the rest for 6th form next year.
(MadBouncyDog Barking at the moon since, Wed 13 May 2009, 22:55, Reply)

cunty-balls
first post and all that jazz

was bullied for years by this little shit from school. he was ginger for fuck sake. i got bullied by a ginger kid. :(

anywhos, id come back to england (living abroad now) to meet some mates, one of them happening to be your run of the mill metal head mentalist, who will out drink you, and then give you a dead arm for shits and giggles. best friend you could wish for. he's also fucking hard. with a mullet to boot. if my wife wasnt so awesome, i'd marry him, i know the dress i'd wear and all.

so yeah, i'm in the pub and the ginger turd comes over and starts off from where he'd left, calling me a batty boy and threatening to punch me.

my mate talking to my wife, spots this, and hearing stories of the me being bullied by a ginger from previous nights in the pub, puts two and two together, and figures this is the guy.

he walks over, grabs the ginger turd by his balls, drags him over to his table and, with a vice like grip (from all those years of wanking and playing his guitar) forces the ginger turd to explain how he likes watching other men piss in the toilets. ginger turds friends cant decide if they should step up and rescue their friend, or carry on wetting themselves with laughter.

they opted for the latter, and we all watched as the guy who bullied me for years stood in a pub telling everybody (in an increasingly high pitch voice) that he likes watching men pee.

apologies for spelling, but as you may guess, i was educated in an english school.
(mynameisnotdeacon, Wed 13 May 2009, 22:17, Reply)

Walking to a friend's house the other day
A car slowed down next to me and a child, no older than about 8, leant out the window to tell me that I’d 'dropped my gay card'. I stupidly looked down as the car sped off, child laughing.

The worst part was that the mother driving the car had agreed to take part in my humiliation. And I never did find that darned card.
(spavywavy, Wed 13 May 2009, 22:07, 5 replies)

Until the age of 11...
I was the smallest kid in the class by a long way. So of course I was bottom of the pecking order.

Until the summer of 1989. There's a certain satisfaction in coming back from the summer holidays nearly a foot taller than when you left. (And that's no exaggeration - I finished in July 89 at 4'5" and came back in September at 5'4".)

I then made it my mission to locate every single kid in the school who had been giving me grief for the last 2 years and give them a damned good pasting.

Although what finally put a stop to people having a go at me was the afternoon I was sat drinking a nice cup of hot chocolate when some little shite-bag from my year came up behind me and smacked the bottom of the cup, spraying hot liquid over my face. (Hot enough to hurt but not to cause permanent damage fortunately.) At age 11-12 and with little or no self control learnt yet I chased the little scroat down the corridor, caught up with him, slammed him down on the floor, grabbed his hair (this was late 80s-early 90s and skinheads hadn't come in yet) and repeatedly smashed his head into the concrete floor.

Got about a dozen blows in before 3 teachers (and it took 3!) dragged me off him.

The kid spent a night in A&E with concussion. But I never had any problems again at that school.
(RabidRodent I'm the person your mother warned you about, Wed 13 May 2009, 21:37, Reply)

I was avoiding this QOTW until I came home
This is going to be a stream of consciousness. Sorry. it's the only way I can deal with it - let my self go emotionally cold and not think about it. All bullying strikes hard with me. My girlfriend was and still is bullied - I'm picking up the pieces nearly daily. It's a horrible, horrible thing, we all know that. It untimatly ends up shaping who we are.

The worst part is that we know it's going to happen, no matter what we do to protect ourselves or others.

I was classic victim material in primary school. I don't make friends easily now, nor have I ever done. Thats just who I am. Add to the mix being reasonably intelligent, not giving a flying monkeys how I look, coming out with some frankly stupid things and a willingness to abide by the rules, and there you have it.

Lets start at primary school, shall we?
All of five, in walks a miniPot. Resplendent in his school uniform trousers shirt and top. I liked these clothes. These optional clothes. Was rolled in mud that very morning.
I continued to wear them throughout my six years there. Every day - dead arms. Kicking. Spat at. I don't like football, never have - oh, well, you obviously can't join in our games. Haha, you didn't watch that film last night, what an idiot.

Yep, brought it on myself. I didn't understand what was going on really, so I kept trying and kept getting pushed back.

Onwards to secondary school! Hurrah! Finally, I can make a bit of a break. Nope. not with the people from primary school who socialised and had already told plenty of people about me. Friends? Fat chance. Nobody wanted to be seen with me.

At this point, a few things happened. I was more aware of what was going on, and the stings began to stay with me. I pushed them aside. I bottled it all up, a tendency that stays with me today. I bottle, push aside and force it down until it explodes. Currently, it's the only way I'm dealing with reading this QOTW. So it was at the age of 12 I was sitting on my bed, belt around my neck and the bed, contemplating jumping off. Of all the things to stop it, it was mum calling for dinner. Just broke the spell. Thankyou mum.

I mentioned other things were happening. One is that I do NOT like cutting my hair. It grows out in to a big puffball, sort of like an afro but with a flat bit at the back. The problem was, there had been a guy at the school who had had a very similar hairstyle to my own. The difference between him and me, he'd been caught in the school toilet giving a blow job to another pupil.

The catcalls started following me around. Everywhere I went, I was called by this boys last name. If people didn't come near me before, they activly stayed away from me. "Keep away from Pot, he'll give you gayer disease". I didn't even like the cock back then. But as always, just bottled it back up, put it aside and tried to forget. I had my second snap. It wasn't much. "GAYER" was bellowed in my face. So I punched him in the stomach, and walked off. End of.

So I thought. A couple of days later, this lad wanted revenge. He and his mates grabbed me on lunch time and pushed me in to the toilet. "YOU FUCKING GAYER!" was spat in my face. "You love the cock. You love Holmsey's cock so much, you make yourself look like him in your worship. Well, here's your fucking cock!". Keeping it short - they raped me. Hello /talk. Please form an orderly queue to call me a liar. I'm not though. Why didn't I go to the police? Teachers? Parents? Nobody would believe me. That's how I felt. Numb. Nothing. Worthless nothing. I still feel... nothing. Nothing at all about it. The memory is there, but no feelings associated with it.

Back then I needed to feel something. Anything. You know what happened there. Suffice to say, there is a patch of skin on my leg where no hair will ever grow. I still keep the box with the kit. It's airtight. I know everything in there is in perfect condition.

Although as far as I'm away nothing about the toilet even got out, the cat calls, punches and other abuse still continued. I retreated in to my books. Things changed a bit around year eleven. Purely random event. Someone asked me for help. I gave it. They realised I was quite willing to help people. I actually made a few tentative friends. Moving on to the sixth form (same school) was better. I had realised a few things that were the cause of my being the victim and did a few simple things to help. I sought psychological help for my social issues, and it worked. It was great. I could get on in life without being hassled.

Ok, that was an exaggeration. I still got verbal hassle from the lower years. I'm big enough that msot of them wouldn't try anything on me. My own year was actually being decent to me. While I wouldn't say I felt happy, as I had (and still do) a tendency to stick my foot in it causing me to be shunned for a while. I ended up making some good friends - the only people I'm still in contact with. I even managed to go out on dates with a couple of people. Life, while not great, was still better that it had been.

Took a gap year before uni. worked in a warehouse. Was very happy. Social skills getting better, got on very well with people there. Then met the girl who became my ex-fiancee.

Hooo boy. She was great at first. Helped me find work at the edinburgh festival and otehr places. Took me to see parts of the UK and gave me some independence. It was great, until I went to university. Why hadn't I called her? Didn't I know she needed calling? How dare you ignore me. You went out with your friends? But I neeeeeded you!

I don't know how she made me do it. But she got it in to my head that if I loved her and really, really wanted to show it, I would propose. And like the weak willed sap, I did. Didn't stop the passive-agggressive. She needed money for this little thing. Needed me to take her there. Need need NEED! If I didn't comply, I got verbal and sometimes physical hell. But partway through university, I snapped again.

Top tip? Two bottles of Nytol and half a litre of Bells doesn't work. it just makes you sleep for 24 hours.

broke it off. Passive-aggressive attacks don't stop at first, but it tails off. I've lost where I'm going with this. Sorry.

What I'm trying to get at... not sure. I have one skill on the net - I can find people. A few basic bits of invofmation and I can find a photograph, names addresses etc. I've checked up on some of the people who bullied me. Personally, I think I'm doing better than they are now. I'm actually happy with life, because I know what the future holds - and to me, it's good. I have a girlfriend who loves me, and who I love a lot, even though I only see her every few weeks. My family really do love me and are there for me. I have firends at work. I'm meeting new peple and making friends out. I'm building the life I want, with people I want to share it with in various ways.

But none of that above matters. None. August 23rd. I will have finished my HNC. Bloodstock heavy metal festival will be over. I will have just come home from three weeks with the girlfriend. And I have a bottle of nembutal in a little drawer waiting for me.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Wed 13 May 2009, 21:09, 12 replies)

Shittest bullies ever?
I got called 'chocolate biscuit' and 'funnyless'. I suppose chocolate biscuit might have been slightly insulting if I were black, but I'm not. And what was funnyless all about? Were they trying to say 'fannyless'? Either way, it was terribly difficult to feel bothered.
( Bob Todd whee, Wed 13 May 2009, 21:00, 2 replies)

I was forced by my parents to attend a private school
For the 4 years of lower school, I was systematically victimised by Ffoulkes-Ballard and Shuttleworth Major.
I had to do their latin prep before high tea or they'd burn my pyjamas and make me endure the horrible ritual that was 'Dutch Steamboating'.

One summer night after evening prayers in Big Hall, they ambushed me on the quad and tied my underpants to the school cormorant, leaving me 'tackle out' for the boys of Hawtrey House to throw eggs at my tallywhacker.

I got my revenge though. At the end of Michaelmas term in our first year at Upper School, I bludgeoned Ffoulkes-Ballard unconscious with a stale haddock I stole from the tuck shop with such ferociousness that the assault left him with a permanent priapism and the inate inability to hear anything over 100KHz.
(LunarJim, Wed 13 May 2009, 20:49, 4 replies)

My turn to whinge now.
One boy at my school picked on me quite a bit, for example; on one occasion he grabbed me as I innocently walked by in the hall and emptied a can of cola in my hair, and he once pushed me down and dragged me through a puddle by my schoolbag.

I ran into him a couple of years ago in a local pub, and against all expectations he came over and apologised for being so mean to me and we had a nice chat.

Whether or not his new found repentance was due to the fact that I am now bigger than him I couldn't possibly say. Although I found it quite funny considering I am a girl and only 5'2".

First post, be nice! I'm only wee.
(AyeMe, Wed 13 May 2009, 20:24, Reply)

Thinking back on it
I used to bully a kid in my primary school, so much so that the headmaster actually banned me from hitting him.

The cunt did deserve it though.
(radial head fracture, Wed 13 May 2009, 20:17, 1 reply)

But seriously...
Did the jokey one underneath, but I can't say I haven't been affected by bullying. I don't really want to go into it, because I feel that most of you have probably heard it before, but there is one person that I am more angry with than anyone. It was a teacher I had in P6 who not only condoned what was going on, but at times contributed to it. The amount of bile I have for this woman could fill the whole page but I will share my two favourite stories here.

Firstly, I went into P6 in 1989. We hadn't heard of dyslexia, but there was a boy in my class who, looking back, was quite seriously dyslexic. This teacher crossed out English on his jotter, wrote 'Chinese' on it, and it was our daily treat to hear what this poor lad had tried to write at the end of the day.

Secondly, it was parents evening, and Papa Glitter had gone to hear all about how young glitter was doing. They did the whole bit about my academic progress, then we went on to my social progress.

Papa Glitter - So how is Little Glitter getting on with the other children? She doesn't seem to be very happy
Bitch Hound From Hell - She seems to be having some problems fitting in.
PG - I thought so. So what do you think the problem is?
BHFH - The other children don't seem to like her, but can I just say, myself and some of the other teaching staff are full of admiration for LG.
PG - Thanks, erm, why?
BHFH - Well every day I watch her getting kicked, punched, spat at, called names, belittled and get her stuff stolen and she has always managed to keep her dignity.

Papa Glitter gets a little hazy with the details about how this conversation ended, but the Headmaster was off for 6 weeks with stress after the meeting my dad had with him.

Needless to say, I was pretty sharply moved to another school, where I wish I could say was a happy ending, but it was a better ending.

I don't normally condone violence, in fact, I hate it. But if I ever see that fat-legged bitch again I will be using my fists, then admire her as she manages to keep her dignity.
(allthatglittersisglitter, Wed 13 May 2009, 20:12, Reply)

I don't realy care for bullies
Bullies are like ants you find them every ware and they always tend to be in groups.

The same was true at both my schools, now when I was in primary school the bullies consisted of a rag tag group of kids from different year groups who came together to share their hate for decent insults and anyone with a brain cell. I was one of these said people, in fact most of the school was, this meant that I was subject to the typical standard bullied tactics such as getting the blame for anything bad that happened, getting beat up, having lame insults hurled at me on a regular biases. And for the most part I just shrugged it off and ignored them.

However one of the worst cases of bullying I have had the misfortune to be the victim of was when a nineteen year old lad chased after me and slammed my face into a log. This happened when I was about thirteen or fourteen. However it did get rid of the big spot on my nose which probably cushioned the blow.

When I was at secondary school the same pattern of the primary school bully was applied, mainly because I went to the same secondary school as most of the twunts from my primary school, and again I shrugged it off and got on with my life. Now it wasn’t till about two or three years ago that I took a stand against the leader of said group of bullies, (following the advice of my father “always go for the ring leader”), and this happened when I was waiting outside off one of the classrooms waiting for the teacher to show up, now this being the perfect time to do a bit of quick bulling they stared to hit the back of my head. To which I turn round with my right leg out low and took the cocky little shits legs out at the same time as I pushed him, this combined with the fact that his legs were no longer touching the floor meant that little shit had a few brief seconds to wonder what had happened before he landed on his backside in front of most of the class. That was also the moment when the teacher of said lesson arrived to see him getting of the floor and swinging for me, the result was him being severally embarrass and a detention.

His face however as he realised what had happened the split second before he hit the ground is something that I will always remember.
(radial head fracture, Wed 13 May 2009, 20:09, Reply)

At school
I had glasses, red hair, eczema, and asthma. I wore shabby clothes, had a dysfunctional family, and I was a teacher's pet.

....I might as well have had a massive target painted on my shirt. :P

A few more inventive insults were "The Itchy and Scratchy Show", "Cootie Counter" and "Injection for Life".

It's fun in hindsight. Back then, I needed therapy.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Wed 13 May 2009, 19:50, 5 replies)

Does anyone else get school bullies trying to add you as friends on Facebook?
With me they weren't really bullies (not to me anyway) but they picked on me a bit and weren't particularly nice people.

Why would I want to be friends with them?

Of course everyone knows the best way to get rid of someone on Facebook is to add them (so they lose the 'friend requested' thing) then delete and block them so you get a chance to have a look at how far they've got in life, usually not far, and have a laugh. :)
( thistle, Wed 13 May 2009, 19:47, 3 replies)

Kids can be cunts
At my primary school, there was a girl a year or two below me. She had something wrong with her nose - not mishapen or anything, but it just poured snot out non-stop. Her sleeves and the front of her jumper were permanantly covered in a silvery, snotty mess. I have no idea what her time in class was like, but her break-times for her entire school life were spent with her sitting on the ground crying whilst the rest of the kids took the piss.

I wonder what happened to her in the end? she never went to the local secondary school, did her family move away? did her parents eventually take her to a docs to get her nose seen to?

Anyone on here with an excessively snotty nose?
(dave likes cheese, Wed 13 May 2009, 19:35, 3 replies)

Fuck'em
My first office job in England, my boss was a total bitch - but only towards me. Probably because I hate authority figures. Or maybe because I like correcting people when they're wrong, and she was wrong *a lot*.

After a year or so of her torture, she was up the duff and had recently hired her bloke (nepotism in action). Out on the chrimbo bash. She's pissed and draped over another guy from the office, one nobody likes. Five pints on an empty stomach conspire to make me think "why not?"

I sidle over to her bloke.

"I think it's very good of you to put up with her. Y'know, after..." *gestures to boss and bloke she's draped over*

"After what?"

"But, but, are you sure you want someone else's kid calling you 'daddy'?"

Our sysadmin, a charming stoner from Bristol, dragged me off to partake of some herbal relaxants back at his. Apparently, violence happened shortly after we left. Best of all, her bloke couldn't remember where he'd heard the rumour - too pissed by far - but held on to a burning resentment that lasted long after I'd quit and moved to a different city.
(DigitalRaven will have to make do with gin, Wed 13 May 2009, 19:34, Reply)

Teenage kicks ...
Wish I could find some funnies in this one but no joy. Usual apologies for length.

When I was a little girl I was a fat, innocent, speccy little bugger who adored her parents and didn't pull the legs off spiders. A nice kid, in other words. We lived in a council house on a council estate but my mum had delusions of grandeur and would not talk to let alone mix with the other mums, so automatically our family (mum, dad, me, cat) were assumed to be fair targets for a hate campaign. It didn't help that my dad could never turn the other cheek and thought that anything these twunts could do, he could do better - next thing you know it's all out fucking warfare.
Such jollities included the neighbor next door trying to poison our cat, the kids next door trying to chase it into a main road, and my dad and the neighbor coming to blows on the front lawn after years of winding each other up by "parking in my spot", drilling holes in the wall before nine o clock on the morning on a weekend, playing their radios and tvs louder than the other guy (got so bad that mum and I had to wear ear defenders in our own house - no word of a lie), and calling the police round for every slightest neighborhood annoyance. They were worse than children.
Said blows being rained down on each other as me and the bloke's daughter (me aged seven and her about five) stood on our doorsteps in our jarmies one summer evening crying in fear and my mum and her mum shouting abuse at each other from the sidelines whilst the rest of the street looked on. Sigh.

Anyhoo -- you can imagine that because my mum and dad didn't talk to the rest of the street, the only side our fellow residents got was the neighbors'. Which made me public enemy number one with the kids.
The thing was - I mighta been fat, four eyed and a girl, but I lamped 'em like I came from a family of Navy boxers (which I do), so I never got much real aggravation from the kids my same age, because we were always kicking the shit out of each other, and laughing about it. I thought it was how life was to be honest.
However, one household had an older kid of sixteen or so (when I was nine) and he took it upon himself to absolutely persecute the fuck out of me. He encouraged the younger kids to back him up, and before you could say "bullied big style" I was, well, bullied big style.
His favourite stunts included:
- finding half an old grapefruit in the bin and running me down, catching me, stealing my glasses off my face and squashing it into my eyes. It hurt like a bastard.
- tying me into a stolen pram (one of the old style big wheeled ones) and pushing it out into the main road that bordered our estate at rush hour. The pram got clipped and jolted round by some silly old bat who probably shouldn't have been driving. I don't know who was more terrified - her or me.
- force feeding me poisonous berries. I had to have my stomach pumped at the local hospital.
- getting two older girls to pretend to help me when he tripped me up and I cut my knees, but what they really did was not put antiseptic cream on my cuts but put bathroom cream cleaner on them instead. And then show me the bottle and laugh.
And a host of other unpleasant past times. He was at least inventive, the evil fucktard.

This list could go on, but it would be piss boring and have no point but here's an interesting (to me at least) epilogue. Well, two epilogues really.

One day I was ditty bopping along on my bike, minding my own business, when the local kids call me over with sneaky looks. I go (like a twat - but the younger ones, as explained above, were at least half friendly - when we weren't smacking the crap out of each other).
On the hill near my house, they've constructed a scary looking bike ramp in the road, fashioned out of bits of scavenged wood. They're looking for some dumb bunny to try it out first.
They dare me. I - like a tool - can't lose face, so I agree.
So I get back on my bike, ride a fair distance away, and start pedalling like a little dervish towards said ramp.
Now - I mighta been a plucky (or indeed stupid, which often amounts to the same thing) little shit, but at that age I knew exactly fuck all about physics and its effects on bike ramps. I didn't know that the idea is to give the handlbars abit of a pull up before you hit, to facilitate your smooth transition from road to wood. As a result, I hit the thing going flat out with my little chubby legs pumping - and promptly fly over the handlebars as my front wheel stops dead on the edge of the wood. The force of this is so intense that the milk bottle lenses of my glasses actually fly out of the frames - the frames amazingly still on my face - and twinkle their way through the air to then land, totally fucked, on the road. I pitch forward and clear the ramp, and land with a face shredding thump on the tarmac.
Silence from the on lookers.
Silence from me - I'm totally winded.
When I finally recover, blood pissing down my face and my nose all but shattered (amazingly flesh wounds were all I received I managed to figure later), my first thought is "Why the fuck can't I see anything ?"
I was extremely short sighted even then - nowadays that pathological myopia means I am blind in one eye and have no central vision in the other due to the extraordinary shape of my the back of my eye and the strain that puts on your retina (which just splits or bleeds out and causes blindness). Then I couldn't see anything but light and dark about four inches away from my face without the glasses.
I'm probably five hundred yards away from my house, but have no hope of getting home without further injury. That scares me completely and I burst into panicky tears.
The assembled kids laugh and run off and I am standing there in the road bleeding and having a full scale panic attack.
Some boy comes over and takes my arm.
He has the lenses from my glasses, and gives them to me. He wipes my snotty phiz on his sleeve and says, "Don't worry, I'll get you home."
He then picks up my bike with the other hand and leads me home, rings the doorbell, and hands me and croggled bike over to my mum, explaining what happened and that my glasses need fixing.
She thanks him and takes this bleeding snot fountain that looks vaguely like her ten year old chick indoors.

And who was this knight ? You can probably guess. The very teenage thug who'd had made my life absolute hell for the previous years.

Next day he was back to his old vindictive self. Normality was restored.

The second epilogue is that some years later, said thug was imprisoned for attacking a nightclub bouncer (he wouldn't let thug in). By driving at him and crushing him against the nightclub's exterior wall with his car.

As the song says, "People are strange." And you don't even have to be a stranger.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Wed 13 May 2009, 19:33, 2 replies)

Schools are prisons
Bullying will occur in them as both are overcrowded shitholes full of people who have nothing in common other than not wanting to be there. Also the odds that you will be sat next to a psycho or sexual deviant approach one, over the length of stay.

Think about it the gangs, the pecking order, the code of silence against authority, uniforms, universal antipathy towards newbies. I am I describing strangeways or your local comprehensive? hint- the only difference is that in one of these two places the swastika tattoos are actually biro

With that in mind it seems obvious that people are going to get picked on. Both parties are immature and unable to fully control their hormonal impulses in a environment that encourages conflict.

When looking at these posts keep the shawshank redemption as a handy guide. sure Andy Dufrane came out on top in the end, but he had to endure a whole lot of bummings beforehand. But when Andy reminiscences over his prison life he will always be telling people about hanging out with morgan freeman (good times! once we like totally made the guards get us beer on the roof w00t). Likewise you cant really fault the people who had a crap time of it at school for wanting to post about the one time they got revenge.

try not to stay bitter and remember the words of the great philosopher Johnny rotten "shools are prisons".

now I'm off to write apologies for length 100 times
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Wed 13 May 2009, 19:04, 1 reply)

Second Week of Big School 1983
At lunchtime I was hanging around by the tree in the playing field suddenly a bigger kid comes up to me and said 'Oi! are you new here'? I replied in a quiet 'Y-y-yes'.

He said 'Watch this' and picked up a small rock from the floor and threw it as hard as he could.

About 200ft away a small kid in my year was nonchalantly strolling at the end of field probably thinking about the latest adventures of Dangermouse, unaware that I and a few others were watching the trajectory of the missile as it made a graceful arc across the sky.

It looked like it was going to bounce right off the top of his head, and with a loud CRACK!, it did.

I turned to the bully with a look of amazement as he said 'That's physics that is mate, You'll learn that in a few years' and with that the stone thrower strolled off.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Wed 13 May 2009, 18:23, 5 replies)

My story......
I was fine till I started my last school, I was reasonably good looking and intelligent however some people didnt like the fact that some girls liked me more than them so they started to spread rumours about me.....

Well these rumours got worse and worse....

Then my health started to suffer due to them and I started to suffer from depression...

The rumours got worse and then the kids who wanted to be cool in the year below me started to join in....

Despite protesting my innocence for over three years things got too much for me and I ended up leaving school in the first few months of sixth form, a few months after that I left hom due to mental problems....

I don't remember what I did while I was away from home as it is all a bit of a blur....

But nearly 20 years on I have doubled in size and have drunk and snorted just about everything I could get my hands on....

I've been medicated so much I shook like I had parkinsons, I spent an afternoon in a psychiatric hospital which scared the life out of me...

I've seen psychiatrists and undertaken loads of therapy courses...

All because a few kids were jealous....

And the worse thing about it is I'll never be rid of them, it's still playing in the back of my mind, what happens if I get a job and some of them work there? could I cope with this being brought up again?

I don't think I could but at least this time I could do something about it legally....or illegally....

arseholes....
(Lip Up Fatty Fatty Reggae still loves BBQ food on, Wed 13 May 2009, 18:19, Reply)

:(
About 2 years ago i asked a question in /talk :(
( Shiodome has realised numbers in names aren't cool., Wed 13 May 2009, 18:12, 2 replies)

First QOTW post ever...
I'd like to know what it is about people who dress in black and have long hair that screams "TARGET" at members of the lower echelons of society.

That said, despite the fact that I fall into that category, listen to heavy metal, happen to be a little bit mental, and even went about a year calling myself a goth, I seem to have got off light in terms of bullying. Essentially, the worst I got was heckles, and the occasional stone barrage (read: chav kids throwing stones with roughly a 4-5% hit rate). The heckles would typically come under 3 categories:

Appearance: Self explanatory. "Cut yer 'air!" and "Are you a girl or a boy?" were favourites. Imaginative stuff.

Lifestyle: Essentially digs at the music I listen to and my brief goth period. "ROCK ON DUDE! \m/" was generally met with scorn, as were cries of "MOSHER!", "GOTH!" and, more recently, "EMO!". How offensive is "Mosher" supposed to be to someone who listens to rock music anyway?

My favourite example of this sort of thing happened about 3 years after I stopped calling myself a goth.
Chav kid: Do you cut yerself? (Most kids at my secondary laboured under the misapprehension that self-harm was a majorly gothic thing to do)
Me: No, why on earth would I do that?
Chav kid: Yeah you do!

Name: My name is Conor Macdonald. I like my name. Not many people can claim to being named after the main character from Highlander. However, a surname like Macdonald leaves you open to a battery of mockery. Renditions of Old McDonald and requests for cheeseburgers plagued my primary school years, so, needless to say, by year 10 these had got old. Occasionally, I got modifications of Karma Chameleon by Culture Club, with my name instead of Karma.

Essentially, I have been subject to possibly the most ineffectual bullying of all time. Go me.

Length? Not bad for a first time...
( deathsquirrel Oh dear., Wed 13 May 2009, 17:51, 6 replies)