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365 Days: Call Me Ishmael

Published January 5, 2014 by adventuresandthoughtbubbles

Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my free time to thinking about death. –Hazel, TFIOS

Thing was, my mother didn’t really know I was depressed, or if she knew, she didn’t accept the fact that I, her only daughter and offspring, was depressed. And it didn’t happen when I was 17. It started when I was 10, and continued till I was 13.

There was a path that led to my depression, but no one could see it. And now, I’m going to tell the story of what happened.

When I was in kindergarten, I didn’t really have my own circle of friends. Everybody just sort of played together because as kids in one classroom, we felt the need to stick with each other against the strangers in the other sections.

In 1st grade, our class split into the circles. These two girls came up to me. They asked me if I wanted to be part of their circle. I felt the need to say yes because a) I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and b) everyone was getting pulled into a circle, I didn’t want to be left out. So that’s what I did. I said yes. Little did I know this would be the first of many stepping stones that would lead to my depression.

Those two girls, D and M, who I thought were my friends, abused me. In our games of pretend, when I would do something wrong, they would either a) kick me in the shins b) damage my school ID or c) make me pay my allowance. I’d come home with bruises or no money. And when my parents asked why, I said I fell or that I bought food. I thought it was part of the friendship. I remember this one time, I stepped on D’s foot. She demanded 500 bucks. I only had 20 a day. I had no math skills. I paid her throughout first and 2nd grade. This caused my inferiority complex

3rd grade came and we were shuffled. I found a new circle but it didn’t work out.

4th and 5th grade, I was on my own again. I was still innocent. I had never seen movies that involved bullying. I had never even heard of bullying then. So I had no idea that it was happening to me. I thought that I had done something extremely wrong.

The depression started. No one noticed. And so it continued.

6th grade we were shuffled again. I thought I could start over. I was wrong. The class I was in had two of the bullies from my previous class. One day, I was making new friends, the next week, they were gone. The bullying started again. I never had willing group mates because nobody wanted me, I didn’t eat in school because I just couldn’t go to the canteen and see all those people who hated me, I rarely talked.  This year was the year I had started thinking of suicide. It continued till 8th grade.

In 8th grade, the bullying was toned down. But I still dreaded going to school. At one point, even my life at home was getting messed up too, so it was like going back and forth between two versions of hell. House and school. The thought of suicide came so easily to me. I just wanted to disappear forever. I even made a list on ways to die. But I could never bring myself to do it. I was always clinging to this tiny piece of hope. Hope that one day, my life would get better. That one day, all this would stop

I’m glad I clung on to that little piece of hope. Because the following school year, I found peace. The bullying died down as people were maturing. I found friends in different schools, different batches, and different sections to help me cope. My grades were doing better. Life at home was happy again.

The bullying didn’t stop completely, not everyone likes me, not a lot of people talk to me. But…

I’m happy and content with my life. Being put through 7 years of hell, was worth my life now. My happiness. I haven’t even felt this content, ever. And I feel so light now that I’ve told you guys what’s happened. Cause no one knew the whole story, and now you know.

So that’s the story of my life getting better. Like Hazel, after a tragedy, I found a way to fix myself. Actually, I didn’t do it on my own. My post called “Salute to 2013”. The people in that post are the people who helped me find my peace

[I know it’s pathetic to let all this out on a blog. But I just needed someone to know. I’m scared to tell this story out loud and if any of you guys are getting bullied, please leave a comment. I’ll listen]

signing off