I think we've all heard the age old saying that, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” As I'm sure we've all grown to recognize words are sometimes heavier and more fatal than stones. Why do words hurt us so badly? Well my dear readers, for the same reasons that we choose to lie about our perfect lives on social media, we care what others think about us. It's an unfortunate truth, but most of the human race bases how we feel about ourselves by what other people think of us.Truthfully it's hard wired into our DNA since we've descended from very social creatures.

In an earlier chapter we discussed how Ophelia and I developed into two people with different personalities because of the way people thought of us. Ophelia grew into a relatively insecure people-pleasing adult because she desperately seeks for her peers’ approval. She's judging her worth based on what others think of her. Don't get me wrong, I also deeply care about what others think of me, and I also turned into a people pleaser but primarily because I've been searching for my worth outside of myself. I work hard at everything I do, I never allow failure to be an option, I'm the classic type A, overachiever, all because I believed and still have trouble pushing through that I am not my achviements. This has been a large source of pain and frustration in my life, and I'm sure in many other people's lives, but we'll get to that towards the end of this journey.

Looking back on my life there were many times that people have tried to tear me down, or at least that's how I perceived these interactions to occur. However, perception is reality, so I;d like to impart some of my wisdom to you. There are two main reasons that people say rude, mean or hurtful things to you. #1 - They're jealous of you and the only way to feel better is to knock you down to their level or to minimize your accomplishments. Be flattered in this instance because you're considered a threat. #2 - Something about you reminds that individual of something they dislike about themselves, which makes them despise you. So when someone is being hurtful keep this in mind and instead of fostering a deep hatred for them, you should spark a conversation and address those feelings. No one likes to feel like they don't fit in, and if you try and have a conversation about it at least you know where you stand. Or how to adjust your behavior to make that relationship more liveable. In all truth, we're all a victim of the same monsters, envy and self-loathing.

Anyways, harkening back to my younger years, I was a pretty easy-going kid. I didn’t have many friends but I had a lot of acquaintances, which has held true into my adulthood as well. For some reason people knew of me and I knew of them but we never felt the need to take our friendships any farther than this. One day, in the 3rd grade, I was in the bathroom (of course it would be in the bathroom, right? Could these mean girls be any more cliché? How very 90's of them.) with my best friend Anastasia during recess. We were casually talking about the talent show while we dried our hands under the hand dryer. Some more popular girls in our grade had walked into the bathroom during our discussion and were washing their hands while we spoke. The head of the mean girls Georgette felt the need to comment,

“HA! They would never let you in the talent show.” she guffawed.

“And why is that?” I seethed in response.

“It’s simple.” She retorted, “You have to actually have talent.” Good one, Georgette.

Georgette went on to brag about herself and her possy of pre-teens,

“Well, you’ll be no match for us because we're going to be doing a Spice Girls song. Good luck anyway though.” she said with a chortle of laughter in her throat. Then she and her minions cackled the whole way down the hallway.

I was embarrassed and hurt, my spirit was broken, and I almost didn’t try out for the talent show the next day. At dinner I was quiet and I didn’t tell anyone about what had happened in the bathroom that day. I couldn’t give up though because my mother had gone out of her way to take me to a karaoke store and purchase the accompaniment to “My Heart Will Go On” and I didn’t want to waste her money. So, we ate dinner in silence and went to bed early.

The next morning I woke up, and put on my nicest outfit. As if they were judging me on what I'd be wearing, it was a panel full of teachers, I'm sure they could care less what I looked like. In fact, I'm sure that every one of them was dreading listening to a bunch of kids attempt to show off their random talents (e.g. magic, tumbling, singing, dancing, holding snakes, etc.). We hopped in my Rowen's truck and began the long journey down the hill to our elementary school.

My heart was running a marathon and my belly was full of butterflies as I stepped out of the pick up truck. Rowen had dropped us off early, right in front of the music room where try-outs for the talent show were being held. As I stepped out of the truck he said, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Just don’t do that deep voice thing you do.”

Thanks, dad. "Don’t do that deep voice thing you do", I repeated sarcastically in my head as I slammed the door shut. What he was referring to was just me using my regular singing voice. "Great advice, dad. I'm so glad you've taught me to be myself", my inner monologue hissed. However, I did do that deep voice thing and I did get into the talent show. I also killed it but I would forever be remember as the girl who sang "My Heart Will Go On" in elementary school.

That said, the real prize was that Georgette didn’t get into the talent show with her stupid “If you wanna be my lover” routine from the Spice Girls. Not only that I sang so well that my mother and several other mothers in the crowd came up to me in tears to tell me how great I'd done. Talk about some retribution. I'd officially showed that bitch who was more talented and classy than her and it felt pretty damn good if I must say so myself. In fact, later on in junior high when American Idol made it's big debut, Georgette spoke to me for the first time in four years. Sadly, we shared gym together, we were in the girls lockeroom on our way to weight training. She spoke as if we'd been friends forever, "You should try out for that show, I think you'd do well", then she patted me on my bare shoulder, while I attempted to throw my ugly school ordered gym shirt on. You know, those gym clothes that make you look like you just escaped from the clink.

Anastasia had gym with me too. She waited for Georgette to walk away, then closed her locker, conveniently located next to mine. "What was that all about", she asked.

"I have no idea", I said bundling my clothes into an indescriminate pile and tossing them in my locker. "Let's get out there before, Mrs. B loses it."

While I did get the benefit of retribution and what may have been the closest thing Georgette ever came to an apology. This obviously wan't the only time that words had hurt me and it wouldn't be the last.

What I've come to learn is that words are one of the sharpest weapons in our personal arsenals, and they often leave deep wounds. One of the best insults that I can recount, was dealt to me with the expertise of a card shark by one of Ophelia’s first boyfriends. She was around 13 years old and I was following them around one day as they went to the park. We will refer to this boy as Chad from here on out. Chad had dark black hair, olive skin, and bright green buggy eyes. Chad sat on the swing set and Ophelia sat on his lap facing him. Chad would then push off of the ground while he and Ophelia held each other in an unbreakable stare. Keep in mind that I'm 9 and I don't know anything about the oppostie sex, so I thought this looks like fun. So, I ask if I could try it, which looking back on it was an odd request. I see now that this was definitely the 13 year old equivalent of dry, but how the hell would I have known that then? Ophelia and Chad rather rudely looked up from their private world and told me "No." So, I stomped away in a huff and Ophelia hurried after me.

I didn't understand why she didn't want me around. Why was this new boy so much more interesting than me? I'd been here all along, just following her around, waiting for her to hang out with me. What was her deal, right? Wrong, I'm sure I was beyond annoying. Who wants someone they don't want to hang out with to follow them around all day? I just wasn't picking up on those social queues, it's not that she didn't like me. It's that she wasn't supposed to like me anymore. She was supposed to go off and find her own group of misfit toys to play with, but I just didn't get it.

“You aren’t going to tell mom and dad are you?” she pleaded.

Well, I wasn’t going to before, but since she gave me the great idea and it was now clear they wouldn't approve of this behavior, I responded with,

“Oh yes I am!”

At this point, Ophelia somehow decided she'd just convince Chad that he should let me sit on his lap for a minute, despite his fierce protesting. I clambered onto his lap hitting him in the face and accidentally crushing his nuts with my foot. We sat there for less than 10 seconds and he threw me off of him as he shouted,

“Times up. Ophelia’s turn.”

I stumbled to steady myself and marched off in a huff again because no one ever wanted to spend time with me. Plus, Ophelia sat on that douche bags lap for 30 minutes before I even asked if I could. Ophelia was becoming ever more concerned with me ratting on her, but I wasn’t interested. I was going to get on my bike and ride around for the rest of the day. Ophelia yelled at me,

“Please don’t tell anyone about this!”

I didn’t respond, and she started to get antsier about what I might say to our parents. I was about tell her not to worry about it when Chad said it. One of the meanest things that anyone has ever said to me,

“Don’t worry, she won’t say anything or else I roll her fat ass home.”

That’s right Ophelia was dating a guy who not only talked to her 9 year old little sister like that, she didn't say a damn thing about it to him. She just ignored the comment and went back to her own perpetual bliss with this asshole. In that moment, it was pretty clear that she didn't really care about me. How could she? I would've stood up for her.

I cried on the way home, and during my ride around the comples. Wow... Chad thought that I was fat enough to roll me home, like I was a barrel. I remember that night in the bathroom, before I took my shower, looking over my naked 9 year old reflection. I was tubby for sure, but I didn’t know that people thought I was fat. This comment forever changed the way I saw myself. From them on I'd always be self-conscious about my weight. As I reminisce on it, I can laugh because it was so stupid of me to be hurt by what some fling of Ophelias thought of me. On top of that it was a pretty good insult or a possible self-deprecating comment that in later years I wish I had thought of on my own.

That experience wasn't the worst or most hurtful ones though. One of the most ruthless times that someone bullied me occurred in junior high. I hope that I've painted you a fairly clear picture by now, but if not let me clarify. I wasn’t a very pretty girl in junior high. I wore baggy clothing to hide my figure because I felt fat (thanks, Chad!), I didn’t wear make-up or comb my hair, and to make matters worse during this unfortunate period I've time I'd gone to the beauty school to get my hair cut and the stylist accidentally chopped it all off. I looked a little mannish to say the least, and I say that in the nicest way possible.

During this period of time, I had three girl friends, all of whom looked similar and that I hung out with during gym. The only reason we even gravitated towards one another is because we were lazy and hate gym class. Add to that, the fact that I hung out with guys all the time, but never managed to have a boyfriend or catch a date. Oh for sure, I was a prime target for bullying.

So, one day I'm sitting in Geography, and the girl who sat behind me was in an awful mood. This girl and I also had gym together. She had long brown hair, deep-set brown eyes, and wore an intense amount of eyeliner, which made her like a raccoon. This girl and I normally got along just fine but today she seemed distant and angry with me. I tried to include her in a conversation with me and the guy we sat next to, his name was Lucas. This was a common occurrence for us, but she was sullen and unresponsive. I just chalked it up to a bad day and went about my business of trying to learn about different continents.

When I left class I walked with Lucas to my next class. As I took my backpack off he told me that I needed to go to the bathroom and look at my shirt. Everyone I passed as I walked out of the class and through the hallway to the bathroom giggled and some of them pointed, and it was an awful feeling. I slid into the girls bathroom, took off my shirt in the first stall I could find and turned it around, only to find the word LESBIAN in big capital letters scrawled into my shirt in black Sharpie. I hid in the bathroom until the bell rang for everyone else to get to class, I cried for a few minutes after that and then made my way to the office. Then I got chastised for not being in class on time, I was given a white baggy oversized shirt that only further expounded on the bully’s point, and had the words DRESS CODE VIOLATOR on it.

Not only did the shirt itself feel like a punishment, the nurse had the gall to ask me, "Well, why would someone write this on your shirt?"

"I don't know," I said choking back the tears that were starting to well up in the corners of my eyes. I'd be damned if this bigot was going to see me cry.

"Well, I highly doubt that someone would write something like this on your shirt if it weren't true. Are you sure that maybe you don't like girls? Or maybe someone saw you kiss a girl on campus or something."

"No! I'm not a lesbian", I screamed in this woman's face. First, how dare you make me explain why this is hurtful to you. Secondly, how horrible that as a society we were so close minded, that being a lesbian was somehow one of the meanest rumors that someone could say about you.

"You don't have to scream. I'm just saying that you seem pretty upset, so maybe if your'e this upset it's true."

"Oh my God, what is wrong with you? I'm crying because someone wrote a slur on my clothing in permanent marker!", I screamed.

"You need to calm down, or I'll be calling your parents.", she proceeded to threaten.

"Great! Call them, I don't want to be here anyways! You go ahead and call my mom, and you explain to her why you're giving me the third degree about being bullied!!!!", I was so angry that I almost blacked out.

"Go wait in the principal's office, I'll have them come get you.", she rolled her eyes and picked up the phone.

I didn't move to leave. She was scared of me, scared that I might be a lesbian, scared that I was so angry with her. I wanted her to be as uncomfortable as humanly possible, utnil I absolutely had to leave. Finally, she broke eye contact with me and I shuffled my way to the principals office.

I told the recepetionist that I was asked to wait here instead of the nurses office, slumped into one of those uncomfortable blue plastic chairs and waited. I slipped into my mind and started to put more bricks and mortar into my wall. You know the one, the wall you build on the inside to keep people out. Let's face it, by this time I'd built the wall pretty high by compiling all of my shitty life experiences together to justify it's height. It was clear that the wall could only keep growing in height, width and perimeter. And the little voice in my head got a little stronger, a little louder with every brick I laid down. "You'll never be pretty, you'll never be worthy of other people's love or kindness, you'll never be enough." The wall is a scary thing, because you never really remember when you started building it. It's as if the wall has always been there and then one day you make the concious decision to acknowlege it and from there, it starts to grow exponentially.

I was absolutely mortified. Not only was I not a lesbian or deserving of this type of ridicule, people in Geography class had watched her scrawl this word into my t-shirt and said nothing about it. Is this what they all thought of me? Why did they think this? I didn’t kiss girls or leer at them? Where was the basis for this claim? Oh no, I dressed conservatively and no one wanted to date me? big fucking deal! Also why was this so horrible a thing that anyone deserved to be branded like Hester Prynne in the Scarlett Letter? More importantly, I was so offended to be labeled a lesbian, but why? As an adult some of my favorite people have different sexual preferences but as a teenager I was hurt and ashamed. Take a few moments to let that sink it, what does that say about society or even of my younger self? Nothing good.

As I sat there in the principal's office, thinking all of these thoughts, and letting the tears roll down my face. I realized that my mom and dad weren't coming. I walked back to the nurses office,

"Hey! Did you get ahold of my mom?", I barked.

"No, I couldn't get ahold of your mother. I'm trying your father now, but he isn't answering his phone."

"He's out of state, he won't be coming...", I trailed off and just walked out of the nurses office.

No reason to postpone the inevitable. As I walked back to class and for the rest of the day the snickers and sneers grew louder. People’s questions got bolder,

“Is it true that you’re a dyke?”, one boy jeered.

Other girls chimed in later on at lunch,

“I always knew she was a total carpet muncher.”, they said loudly as they passed. P.S. bros have carpets too!

The comments wouldn't cease and even some of my best friends asked me questions about whether or not the words seared into my now ruined shirt were true. First of all, if I were a lesbian it wouldn’t have been anyone’s business. Secondly, why was I being treated like the bearded lady at the big top? Like I was some strange phenomenon that my peers had stumbled upon by sheer accident! Awe yes, you've stumbled across a wild lesbian. Let's all stare and point! What the hell was wrong with these people?

The worst part wasn’t even the peanut gallery at school. Even though word had spread like wildfire to all of the school grades, it hadn’t quite spread to my mother. Rowen was away taking care of his brother in Montana State, so at least I only had to tell Genevieve what happened. When I told my mother, she flew off the handle, the way any good parent would and she wanted the girl punished. Of course, nothing came of it other than the bully having to apologize to me. We were called into the principal’s office and she begrudgingly apologized to me for her inappropriate behavior. As we both trudged out of his office our junior high principal let out his famous closing line of the announcements, “Remember kids, the choices you make today shape your world tomorrow.” Yeah, well my choice was to never let that bitch sit anywhere near me for the rest of my life.

I have been made fun of more times than I can count and sadly I remember them all. I'm sure that if you were bullied, you do too. Those experiences are hard to forget, we're programmed to avoid pain and remember the things that made us experience intense amounts of it. Our negative feedback loops are strong, and designed to help us survive.

While it seems like such a waste to keep all of that information locked away in your brain just taking up space. Think about that for a minute. There are whole brain cells and synapses filed away in my memory banks devoted entirely to people that made fun of me. I imagine my brain almost as a computer. You turn it on, click on the hard drive only to find blue folders labeled with life events and one of those life events is bullying. Every single one of us is programmed this way and has many of the same files. It makes me so sad to think that some of these files get so overloaded that we choose to make rash decisions based off of them. There are people out there whose bullying folders are so packed full of memories that they look like the overflowing trash bin on your desktop, just begging to be emptied. However, the human brain doesn’t work like that. We cannot simply empty the contents of our memories when they're too painful and some people will choose to end their life because this bullying folder or other folders become too full.

If you're someone who bullies others, I want you to take a minute and process that image for me. When you bully someone you're becoming a memory, solidified in that persons brain map forever. They won't just hear or see you say these hurtful things to them once. In fact, they’ll have a hardcopy of how it felt for the rest of their lives stored in their trauma center. Do you want to be this version of yourself that this poor person has of you in their memories? I didn’t think so. Lastly, keep in mind that if this person were to get Alzheimer’s their brain could latch onto any one of those memories and they could relieve it consistently everyday until the end of their lives. What a horrible thing to have consigned a fellow human being to, don’t you think? So, I truly hope that you take this image to heart. There is always time to apologize, make amends, and change your behavior.

As a message to those who are bullied please know that this will stop to some extent and that it may also continue to another extent. I can state with certainty that once I got out of the high school setting I was bullied far less often. However, I can also state that you will witness bullying as an adult as well. When I was studying at the university level for instance, there was a girl who actively and openly excluded a girl in our Genetics class. The girl being excluded reminded me a lot of my older sister. This girl was smart but quiet, reserved, and may have actually had Asperger’s syndrome because she had no social skills whatsoever. This is odd considering this individual had sibilings, but some people suffer from severe anxiety and it makes them feel robotic or cold. That doesn't mean that's who they are, that's just how they occur for us. One day while this bully was making a show of treating her victim poorly, I just turned to her and said,

“You know you can be a real bitch sometimes.”

The bully’s mouth dropped open and I walked out of Genetics class with my dignity still in tact. I'm not interested in being mean just for the hell of it. Quite frankly, if I'm going to be rude to you it will be more than well deserved.

Needless to say, I was never invited to mojito night ever again. Not that I was ever really invited before, I was kind of an odd man out in that group. The bully and I had nothing in common and that was fine by me. The bully was interested in boys, clothes, being popular, and how she appeared to others. I on the other hand was interested in passing Genetics, graduating, and marrying my best friend once I got out of college. Very different priorities indeed, essentially I was foreign matter that this bully’s body and mind were trying to expel. She did just that because calling her out on her shit was impolite in her mind. So, if you witness bullying do yourself a favor and shut that shit down. Women are especially unkind to one another because they feel that the person they're bullying is threatening their position in some perceived hierarchy. If a bully chooses to alienate you after you shut their bad behavior down then they weren’t really your friend to begin with, now were they?