Odd Girl Speaks Out Read online

  For those who can't yet look back, I include some advice on how to deal, now and afterward. Your silver lining is out there.

  The Missing Friend

  Who's that girl standing apart from me

  Why she's my friend or she used to be

  I told her everything I know, who I like and so and so

  And then one day, right out of the blue

  She no longer liked me, she gave me no clue

  Why have you left me, have I done something wrong

  I remember our friendship like it were a song

  Even though now all she does is stare

  I can't help but wonder

  Does she remember all the memories we share

  —AGE 11

  I Was in a Never-Ending Nightmare

  There's always that one person in every school. The person who gets made fun of and judged when no one really knows much about them. The feelings this person has from the taunting and teasing are more than anyone could ever imagine going through. The pain classmates can cause these days is unbelievable. At my school, that student was me.

  Last summer (the summer between seventh and eighth grade), my closest girlfriends seemed to drop me overnight. I would go to the beach and I would see the girls who had been my best friends all through seventh grade, but now they were hanging out with another clique from another school. Every time I went to the beach and walked past this clique of girls, they would call me a whore and just ramble on about how gross I was. The girls who used to be my best friends would just sit there and say nothing. There had been so many times when I was there for them, but now they wouldn't stand up for me. They let these popular girls insult me, and they just sat there silently. Later, they admitted to the school social worker that they weren't courageous enough to go against the new clique. I guess they just desperately wanted to be part of this popular group.

  On the first day of school I thought that this year—eighth grade—would be the turning over of a new leaf. I wished that I'd be popular just like last year. I hoped for a new and better reputation. People had heard some things about what I had done with boys over the summer, and not all of them were true. But everyone believed all of the rumors. This changed everything. Kids would come up to me and call me a whore to my face as well as try to trip me in the halls. My classmates would also make obscene, disgusting gestures about sexual behaviors that they believed I'd done. They would talk about me constantly, whispering about the rumors they had heard, staring at me, and laughing right when they were doing it. My few friends and I were very confused about why people kept bothering me. I decided just to ignore it all and see what happened.

  As things got worse, I realized I could not ignore it, and so I decided to talk with the school social worker about what was going on. She understood me very well and encouraged me to go with my first plan, which was to ignore it. I tried again to ignore the teasing and the gossip and the harassment, but things got out of hand. Kids would write horrible things on desks about me and write notes about me and put them in front of my locker purposely so I could see what they had written about me. For example, they'd write that I was a dirty whore. One girl who used to be a good friend of mine said she couldn't hang out with me anymore because I'd "made big mistakes." I thought to myself, "But everybody makes mistakes!" Why couldn't my friends just stick by me and support me through my hard times? I'd made a few mistakes with boys, but so had some other seventh and eighth grade girls, and the things the kids were saying about me were exaggerated and cruel. It was like they needed a scapegoat, and so they chose me.

  Soon my classmates started to tease me about other things that weren't to be made fun of. When I was in seventh grade, I started to become depressed, and most of my friends knew I had clinical depression. I was very open about it because that's what I was taught to do in my family. Most of my friends knew that over the summer (before eighth grade), I had started taking an antidepressant, and my friends and classmates had at first been very supportive and sympathetic about it all. But now, everyone was acting like I was crazy, when the truth was that I had a biochemical illness that I had no control over. When kids saw me in the hall, they would make cruel gestures, pretending to slit their wrists. Some girls started calling me "psycho" and they told other girls who were being nice to me that I would mess them up and make them crazy, too. I tried to tell my classmates that depression was definitely not something to make fun of. It's an illness, just like any other illness. I told them that you don't see people making fun of someone who has cancer or diabetes, do you? Depression is just like cancer: It's an illness, and it isn't funny.

  I didn't understand why any of this was taking place. Why was I the target here? I didn't do anything to get kids upset with me. Why was everyone being so harsh? I was so confused about why they seemed so driven to tear me apart.

  All of my girlfriends began to drop me. They wouldn't sit next to me at lunch and wouldn't call me or write me notes and e-mails. If I sat down at the same table as them, they would gather their things and leave. These were girls who used to be my best friends! All of a sudden the phone calls at home were never for me. My Friday nights and weekends turned into staying home, watching television with my parents, and cleaning my room. I would try calling my friends, but they'd say they were busy. Things got lonely and I felt hopeless. It got to the point where I couldn't go through the halls without a laugh, a cough disguising a mean name, a whisper, a trip, a gesture, or a shout. My classmates would threaten me and would throw volleyballs at me at recess, and the playground supervisors wouldn't do a thing.

  At recess or during class, I would go to the bathroom and cry in the stall for twenty minutes or so. Everything felt closed in and lonely. It was like I was in a never-ending nightmare. I was buried in a cold black hole where no one cared or understood.

  Things got so intense that I ended up running to the school social worker sobbing almost every period, every day. I went to the principal and assistant principal as well. They decided to talk to some kids to try to stop the bullying. But nothing seemed to work. Kids would still bother me as well as bully and tease me. And the girls who used to be my friends kept ignoring me and excluding me.

  By the middle of November, things became so unbearable at school that I begged my parents to let me stay home from school. I was too depressed to go to school. My parents had tried for almost three months to work with the principal and the social worker, but things were not improving. So my parents finally decided to take drastic measures by taking me out of school. My parents totally supported me on this just as they had through all of it. They decided to homeschool me for the rest of eighth grade. Homeschooling seemed to be the healthiest option for me.

  When all this happened to me, I was angry because I didn't think that I should be the one missing my education. I thought the kids who teased and verbally bullied me should be the ones suspended and missing their education. But none of the kids were suspended, and the school I had attended since kindergarten was no longer on environment that I felt safe in. What I went through isn't acceptable and shouldn't be allowed.

  At first I thought that by leaving my school, I was letting my classmates win. But as I thought more about the situation, I realized that I was the one who won. I had left an unacceptable situation and moved on with my life and put all of this behind me. I decided I was not going to let my life be defined by this group of kids and this school. It has taken me several months to build self-esteem and to realize that leaving the school was a sign of strength, not a sign of weakness.

  Because of this experience I have learned many things. I've always known that bullying was bad. But now that I've been a victim of it, I totally agree that emotional as well as physical bullying is wrong. Bullying can create scars that last a long time. What someone is or what someone isn't is nothing to make fun of. And I believe that every kid in America needs to learn that.

  I also learned that being popular isn't everything. Sometimes you can learn a lot mor
e meaningful lesson by going solo. Another thing I learned is that if something is wrong or you are being teased at school or anywhere else, you should always tell an adult so they can help.

  —AGE 14

  Who My Friends Really Were

  The group of girls I hung out with had a weird way of doing things. It was almost like there were rules you had to follow, unwritten rules, and if you broke one you would be punished. For as long as I could remember, I followed these rules; I followed them to the best of my ability, with extra effort, hoping that I would somehow be included more than I was. I had to be friends with all of them; doing something separate was breaking a rule and in turn left me punished. I wouldn't be talked to for days nor would I be called on weekends. Notes would be passed and even given to me explaining how angry they were. Everything got twisted and the truth never made it out. Everyone was turned against me before I even had a chance to tell my side of the story.

  It's funny though, how you go along with it when it isn't you or when it doesn't directly affect you. When I was the one accepted and ignoring another, never did I once care how that person felt, never did I once relate the pain I would feel to theirs. It simply didn't matter to me; I was perfectly happy and content with the fact that it wasn't me this time.

  November of 2001 is when I started to have feelings of withdrawal. I wanted to be alone all the time. At first I didn't understand it, nor did I connect my ongoing weight loss to it. I figured it was just a phase I was going through. As for the weight ... I was a teenage girl, what girl wouldn't like to lose a couple pounds? Well, the couple pounds turned into six, then six turned into twelve, and then it wouldn't stop. I felt sad all the time and there would be days when I wouldn't want to stop crying. I went through this alone for three months, telling no one what I felt, and denying anything was wrong with me. My social life was at zero. What once was a bubbly girl had turned into a girl who attended only what was required. I remember days that I would go to school, and I wouldn't even talk. No one seemed to notice or care.

  It wasn't until February that I figured out there was a cause for what I was feeling. I was diagnosed with clinical depression. What scary words! I didn't understand how I, someone that used to be so happy, could have something so scary. Depression isn't something that you cause, and it is definitely not your fault. Depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in your brain. Everyone experiences some type of depression throughout their life, but most people can deal with it and get out of it. For me, depression had taken over my life.

  Food hod lost its taste, and I in turn had lost my ambition to eat. My trim athletic 117 pounds had turned into eighty-seven pounds. None of my clothes fit and you could see every bone in my body. I hated the way I looked; it was never a matter of body image or a way for me to gain attention. I wanted so badly to have my old life back.

  My friends noticed my dramatic change but didn't seem to care. It was something that we didn't talk about; it was something they talked about behind my back. They knew something was wrong but didn't know how to approach it. I was labeled anorexic, and I left it that way. I thought it would be easier to be called "Ana" a couple times than to try to explain to them what I was actually feeling. This went on for a good six months.

  I don't know why in those six months I expected my friends to support me; maybe it was because that was what real friends were supposed to do. Maybe they didn't support me because they were never real friends. I know I was never their first choice; I was rather a last resort person, a person they would call when no one else was around to do anything. However, even these calls had stopped. All the pain I had felt before from not being included some of the time had been turned into constant pain from not ever being included. I never knew anything different than what I had; they were my world, and they were "my friends." I couldn't possibly imagine my life without them. When they stopped talking and calling me, it was like my world had ended.

  These months allowed me to experience what it was like to be left out all the time; I realized how unfair and cruel everything was. However, with these realizations, I would still hide my problem, and I still wanted more than ever to be a part of the group again. I thought I was good at covering these things up, too. I'd wear big clothes to hide my body and I'd try and smile when people occasionally said hi. I felt so alone inside. There were times when I didn't want to be here anymore; there were times when I didn't want even to give the effort of getting up in the morning. Everything required energy, something I didn't have, and something I couldn't have at such a low body weight.

  I think my "friends" really realized how bad it was when we started swimming in gym class. I couldn't even swim a lap without getting tired. I was freezing and nothing I did could make me warm. The thinness of my body was only intensified by my being in a swimsuit. I only swam one time; I couldn't take it emotionally or physically. I would always hear the whispers and the cruel things people would say about me. My body couldn't take me burning off the calories I so desperately needed.

  The library became first block class instead of P.E.; from that day forward I was forced to sit by myself in the library hoping that would somehow put weight back on my body. What people didn't realize was that this only worsened my depression; I was now totally separated from everyone and everything.

  I don't know how I got through the school year but I did. Things started to get better for me. I saw a therapist for my emotional problems and a nutritionist for the physical problems. It seemed once I was okay and stopped hiding the problem, the weight started to come back. I realized so many things—when you go through something so tough you tend to realize things. I realized when my friends wouldn't help me through, what fake friendships I actually had. I realized the importance of family and how no matter what, they will always love you and be there for you. One thing I didn't realize or deal with yet was letting go of these friendships I'd had for so long, even if they were fake.

  It was the Fourth of July when I finally couldn't deal with the "friendships" anymore. I had sprained my ankle earlier in the day and was on crutches. The group had planned to go watch the fireworks together. I was excited because I was finally invited to something again; after so long they had called me and asked me if I wanted to come along. I began to think this was finally all over; because I was getting better I would be back in the swing of things soon ... I had no idea how wrong I was. That evening the girls decided to walk to the fireworks, knowing that I couldn't walk and knowing that this would mean I couldn't go along. Something that would usually cause tears, instead caused a feeling of freedom, i looked ot my still-emaciated body in the mirror and told myself it was my turn—my turn to feel special, my turn to feel wanted, and my turn to do it all by myself, without the girls who had brought me down so much.

  The rest of the summer I built friendships with kids I knew from church, kids I worked with, and whoever else I could. People I wouldn't ever think of talking to before had become my best friends. Once I stepped out of my carbon-copy image I was more accepting of everyone else. It seemed great. However, summer had ended and I had to go back to school. I had to go back to seeing those girls every day.

  I didn't want to have to deal with this anymore, I didn't want to have to deal with them, and most of all I didn't want to have to deal with the pain. I chose to go to a new school, not because I was running away but because I wanted a place where I could just start over, where I could finally just be accepted for who I really was.

  I wouldn't take back anything I went through because I have gained so much through my struggle. I've gained so much more understanding for people. No longer do I judge or label. I am open to everything and everyone; I want to help people who are experiencing what I am, and most importantly I want everyone to know that no matter how bad things seem, they do get better ... I got better.

  —AGE 17

  It Was Like Looking at a Life I No Longer Had

  During my junior year it seemed that things could not get any better. I ha
d just gotten back together with my boyfriend, and my friends and I were closer than ever. It seemed that the four of us couldn't be any closer. I had a particular girl that I was really close to. We always had the same activities, and anywhere I was, she was there, too.

  My high school contains only juniors and seniors, and when we became juniors for some reason all of the seniors didn't like her. While her other so-called "friends" would agree behind her back with everything the seniors would say about her, I stuck up for her. It was just like that ... or so I thought.

  In February we had a big snow one weekend that stuck around and got us out of school for two days. Basically out of nowhere no one called me. It may not sound like that big of a deal, but when you spend every minute with these girls and all of the sudden they don't call you or answer your calls you start to wonder.

  I had talked to one of my guy friends and he said that he had hung out with the girls all weekend. The whole situation snowballed, and they all treated me as if I didn't even exist. It hurts so bad to know that these girls you have stood up for all these times, especially the one I mentioned earlier, could do that to you. I would go to school and they wouldn't talk to me. I would have to go to lunch by myself. It seemed like these girls had taken my life from me. I couldn't understand how anyone could do this, especially to a "friend."

  To this day they don't see that they did anything wrong. They think the reason we didn't talk for four months was my fault. The day I came back to school after that long weekend without talking to any of them, they seemed to ignore me. My friend, Hillary, had a packet of pictures in her hand and I asked to look at them. She seemed hesitant and said they were no big deal, but she still gave them to me. Inside were pictures of the three other girls playing in the snow at a friend named Brian's house, and inside playing poker with the boys.