Sorry if it seems that this group has been inactive lately. I and the other admins have been very busy with our own lives, so it's been difficult to keep this group active, but we still appreciate all the art and writing coming in, so thank you all
Anyway, this entry will be about depression as a result of bullying. I'm sure a lot of you are aware of this, and I'm sure some of you have also been hit with depression because of it.
Last summer, I was badly depressed. I was getting too intimidated to go into work, my sleep was interrupted nearly every night by bad thoughts and I was getting back into old habits (self harm). After some encouragement from friends, I decided to talk to my doctor about it, and to ask if he could prescribe me with anti-depressants to help with these feelings of anxiety at work and bad thoughts. I wasn't put on them due to concerns over my age, but instead, I was given six weeks of therapy. During this time, I was happy to talk about my problems, and at the end of it all, we were able to find the main cause of my depression, which unsurprisingly, was the bullying in my past.
I already knew it was bullying that had damaged my confidence and self esteem later into adulthood, so I wasn't surprised when we figured out how I got it in the first place. My doctor reckons I've had it since I was fifteen (a time when I was going through suicidal thoughts), and unfortunately all the hurt and scars from the past remained, effecting my confidence and social skills as I moved on in life.
After reading a member's letter to her bullies, I decided I'd write my own as inspiration from this. Please check out her letter: bloodontheveil.deviantart.com/…
Dear bullies/past tormentors,
This will not be a message of hate, revenge or contempt. I will not be talking about the hate I feel towards you and all the suffering I hope you experince. That's not to say I don't hate you though, because I do. I despise each and every one of you.
No, I do not wish for you to die or suffer physically, but I hope one day you will feel the same emotional pain I once did. I hope that at one point in your lives, you will experience the kind of bullying and abuse I had to face every day, whether it be college, work or wherever, I hope you'll suffer the same way I did. Maybe one day, you'll realize how much it hurts, and think to yourself "Hey, remember Emily? This must be how she felt back in school" or something like that. I wish for you to acknowledge the pain. I don't expect an apology anytime soon, but after feeling the same kind of hurt I went through, I hope you at least have a long hard think about how your behaviour and cruel ways effected me, and maybe, just maybe
you'll finally realise how spiteful and unkind you were.
This message applies to all of you who have hurt me. Not just the two girls who turned my name into a disease, not just the group of girls who tried to get me suspended for something I didn't do, and not just the group of boys who used to push me into lockers every lunch time. This is for all of you.
And although some of you didn't start picking on me from the very beginning, each of you have added wounds of pure hatred and cruelness.
From the very start, I became your victim. Within just the third week of school, I was already getting words thrown at me like daggers. You never failed to point out my flaws, as if I didn't see them myself, so of course, you'd have to remind me every day that I was fat, ugly and disgusting.
By year eight, you turned violent. You started threatening me, hitting me, kicking me and shoving me. You began to make fun of my disability, by calling me a downey and a retard, and making me feel ashamed of myself for it. Later on, I wanted to be accepted by you, so I began acting out in class. I would joke around with my friends and speak back to the teacher, hoping you'd notice. I'd get myself in trouble with detentions and getting sent out of class. I wanted you to see that I was just like you, and then maybe you'd finally like me. I was so desperate to impress you, that when you did notice, I'd even go as far as picking on other innocent people, including those who were my friends. Of course, you were just pretending. You were never going to accept me, no matter how much I tried. All those times when it seemed like we were finally friends was completely fake. You were clearly entertained at how much of a fool I was making out of myself. I feel awful that I'd turn against some of my own friends, the people who truly did accept me for who I am. It's a good thing they forgave me.
All your threats, words and hits were getting too much to bear. I was beginning to get sick with fear, and I'd be too scared to come into school. I'd try to get myself out by trying to stay home or attempting to be sent home early. I was figured out quickly, and the teachers could tell I was trying to avoid school. But I was sick. I was sick because of the stress over the bullying, and the fear that striked my heart and twisted my stomach when I entered those school gates.
The next year, I gave up on trying to impress you, and realised how stupid I had been. Instead, I decided to do the complete opposite, and express myself differently from you. Nothing much had changed, except now the abuse had pushed me to self harm. I'll never forget the tears that stung my eyes as I dragged the knife across my skin. All those spiteful words had pushed me to believe that it was all my fault. It was my fault that I was fat, ugly and weird. I deserved to be treated like a worthless pile of trash that everyone just loved to kick around, or a trapped caged animal that people would spit on. All the anger and pain I had repressed for so long finally turned towards the blade, and out of pure hatred, cut my own skin.
When you saw the cuts, you showed no sympathy. I didn't really expect you too. With hearts as cold as yours, you could never see the damage you had done, and you never
thought for a second that perhaps you had gone too far. Oh no, this was clearly a new opportunity for you to hate and humiliate me further, so within one afternoon, nearly the whole school knew. No one ever did think about my feelings or even think about why this happened. I was never given any kind of support. Instead, you all laughed, and talked about my cuts day in and day out. You started calling me a freak, labelling me as emo, and even telling me to kill myself at one point. How can you say that? How can you live with yourself without even feeling a slight bit of guilt? And most importantly, what would you do if I actually went ahead with it? Would you be happy? Sad? Or even a tiny bit
Moving on, the next year I began to experience suicidal thoughts. I still believed that it was my fault, and my mind began to get contaminated by thoughts of being better off dead, how nobody wanted me around, and that I'd be making it better for everyone, including myself, if I just got it over with. You'd all be free of that pile of trash that everyone scowls at like the plague, and I'd be free from a life with hate around every corner. Every day when I walked to get home, I'd think that maybe today would be the last day you'd ever see my face. I'd think of new ways to kill myself, mostly by hanging myself in my bedroom cupboard. I have to ask again: How would you feel if I did it? What would you do if one day, the whole year group is called to a morning assembly, only to find out that I had taken my life the night before? It would be interesting to know. Would you be happy to see the last of me? Or would the realisation that what you did was wrong hit you like a pile of rocks? Would you realise the consequences for your actions, which resulted in someone's life being cut short? Would you live with the guilt for the rest of your lives? Well, it looks like we'll never know, because I never did it, so that question remains unasnwered.
Finally, after my final year at school, I was set free. I had left what felt like a battlefield, with many wounds that invaded my mind. You had damaged my confidence and self esteem, like a kick to the head, leaving behind permanent injuries that still remain to this day. It took me a full year to recover and comprehend all that had happened, as my thoughts were invaded with random memories of bullying. I'm happy it doesn't happen anymore, but because of all that you did, I now have to live with something I have to carry every day: Depression.
As I end this message, I leave with just one final question: Why? Why did you feel pleasure in my pain? Why did you find it fun to mentally scar someone for life? Why did you hate me so much because of my differences? But I suppose I can't really answer that either. But I will say this:
You thought, and may still think that I'm a "loser", and although I must admit getting bullied hasn't done much good for me at all, I actually won. How? It's simple; I survived. Yes, years of bullying damaged me badly, and I have ended up in therapy five years later. I still have trouble liking myself, as I don't think I'm very attractive, and I don't see myself as a very talented person. But at least one good thing came out of all this, and that's the fact that I came out of this alive. Back then, I used to believe that I deserved to kill myself, but I've realised for some time now that I never should take my own life, just because you want me to. I'm still living and breathing every day, and I'm never
going to let people like you make me want to kill myself again.
That is all from me. Hopefully one day you'll realise the kind of consequences your actions can bring, and I hope you'll think twice before hurting someone.
I hope you all enjoyed reading that, and I know it's late, but I hope you all have a wonderful 2015