Bullied (18 page)

After dinner, I finally got back in my room, pulled the book out of its hiding place and eagerly started reading it. It was a very thick book so I knew I would not be able to read it all in one sitting so I flipped the pages carefully and suddenly a picture appeared on one of the pages of a man's penis next to a woman's vagina. The text on the same page of the pictures talked about a man “entering a woman” and having, “sexual intercourse". Aha, I thought, so that is how they do it! Naturally, I had seen the vagina before on my sister and mother but I did not realize there was a place for the penis to enter behind what looked like a shallow slit with no depth. My mother had told me it was simply “where females peed”. I finally knew what I had to do to deal with all of those erotic feelings that had been torturing me for years. At last, I knew what “making love” meant. I cannot wait to experience it.

After finally learning what sex was all about and after reading the Kinsey book from cover to cover, I looked at the young girls dressed in their dark blue uniforms with white blouses in a very different way. I could finally see how intimate and what a privilege it would be if any of them allowed me to “make love” to them. I thought it would be better if they could be my friend first before taking that that intimate step. Just this knowledge alone, makes every day more enjoyable because I have a clear concept of what sex is. However, the simple pleasure of this knowledge was not enough to correct some other issues.

Now, feeling anger instead of fear made me react to things quickly and in a very aggressive way. When people punch or shove me, I hit back right now. When they call me names and get too close to me and I know they are going to hit me, I hit them first. As far as I was concerned, I still did not start the fight when someone got in my face and I knew what he was going to do to me next. This sudden change in my behavior seems to have a very dramatic effect on some of my classmates and the bullies almost immediately. Now, only the biggest people pick on me. Any of the people who are just a little taller or bigger than I am, know that I will punch them immediately, if they mess with me.

Because of this change in my attitude, lack of concern for acquiring friends and quick reactions to intimidation, I find myself alone most of the time. The jocks and the elite at Seton High School who are always calling me names, punching, or shoving me now do so only if they have a few friends with them. That does not stop me from hitting them, if I can. If I run into them alone, they always look away, stay silent and leave me alone. Donald, in particular, just loves to call me names, push, or shove me whenever he can, especially when surrounded by his friends. He always walks around with at least three friends with him. He knows that he is at the top of the pile as far as popularity at the school. As far as being accepted by the group or “fitting in” with them, I am not interested.

Whenever I have to go to the bathroom, as usual, I still go to the last urinal at the end of the bathroom near the wall. It still happens that people, especially Donald come try to hit me from behind while I am relieving myself. One day, he tried this and I turned around and peed in his direction. That set off a lot of laughter in the bathroom. Funny, I can sense when they come behind me even when I cannot see them. Now, it is different because they all know I have a bad temper and will fight, even when I know I will lose the fight.

This whole idea of going to a Catholic school to get a better education and learn about my religion now seems like a ridiculous waste of time and money, but I did not know, at the time, that I would not realize how good this education was until much later.

At this challenging time, I cannot think of anything more hypocritical than teaching students how to behave according to the commandments and as well-mannered youths while, at the same time, turning a blind eye to the daily violence going on in the bathrooms and school playgrounds. Included in this hypocritical process is that I have to experience another giant pecking order that starts with the Priests and Sisters, then to the students. Is there any doubt that this social ranking in the church and families does not cause this same struggle in the lives of their students? In my view as a bullied child, this struggle for rank and respect is part of what causes the insecurity and fighting among students for a better image in their own minds as well as a higher place in their class ranking system.

I could see many of my personal strategies seem to be working because, now at least, things are more predictable. Now when I angrily walk to school, if I see a gang of four walking toward me, especially without their leader, they usually cross the Street so they will not have to deal with me. That is a huge change, almost as huge as the change in my frequent nightmare with the lion. I used to cross the street whenever I saw them coming and they would also cross the street as well so they could punch, shove, and call me names. This change, alone, enables me to enjoy my trip to and from school. Nevertheless, there are still the big bullies, like Rick the prick who will not leave me alone and even if I punch and hit him as much as I can, he will still beat me up about once a week. I know that I will find a way to deal with him and others like him, Ten Commandments or not.

When in class, most of the time, things are peaceful, even though one of the Elite kids would occasionally whisper, calling me names. One day, however, the priest who was teaching religion class had to leave the room for a few minutes. We were in a different class layout where the chairs were in horizontal, not vertical rows. A boy named Steve, who was taller than I was and one of the most popular kids turned around from his row in front of me and grabbed me by the shirt with both hands. I did not feel fear when he did this, just overwhelming anger. I had a sharply pointed pencil in my hand at the time, so swinging my left arm as I learned from my books on fighting; I knocked his hands away from the collar of my shirt, and stabbed him in his left side with the pencil while it broke in my hand. Steve cried out in pain and the whole class looked over at us. Holding his side, he sat back down in his seat and cried while the whole class watched. I glared at him with hostile anger as he cried but knew I could be in serious trouble for stabbing him. Funny, though, I do not care. Luckily, he stopped crying before the priest came back in the room to restart the class.

I continued to stare at him with a rage in my chest and stomach that he did notice when he turned around to look at me again. When the class was over and it was time for us to leave, I noticed most of my classmates looked at me in a very different way. The next day, in the same class, Steve turned around to me and politely said, “You have to see what you did to me yesterday.” When the class was on a break and the teacher had left the room he pulled up his shirt and showed me the long black mark and small reddish wound on his side. "Ok, just leave me alone,” I said. I remembered when he spoke to me that yesterday I had just immediately reacted to his unfriendly grip by stabbing him. This reaction was automatic and it surprised me, too.

I guess I now have a different attitude toward this type of physical harassment. Now, even the hint of aggressive behavior on the part of the people who had been bullying me for years will cause that anger to surface.

Dealing with bullies at school was one thing, but dealing with bullies in my family was another. I do not know if I would still regard some of the people in my family as bullies if it were not happening to me so regularly. The way I feel right now is that, whether family or not, bullies are all the same, and so will be my response.

One Sunday morning I am having breakfast with Grandmother, Grandfather, Lauren, Mother, and her sister, Mary. Of course, Mary's husband Ted was also at table in the kitchen. I am sitting just on his left. As we were passing the food around the table, Ted started joking in his normal obnoxiously sarcastic way. "Hey, Pat, you better go easy on this food because it looks like you're gaining a lot of weight. You need to go on a diet. On second thought, you ought to, just excuse yourself and skip this meal.” Then he laughed, loudly, as he passed the food to his right.

I thought I am not going to put up with his abuse any longer. I have to do something. My eyes fall on the knife on the right side of my plate, next to the fork. Very quickly, I think, I will stab this into his left ear, but I have to make sure that the blade is horizontal so it will fit down the ear canal. As I was reaching for the knife, I noticed a red and white can of whipped cream sitting on the table next to the knife. Instead of grabbing the knife, I picked up the can of whipped cream and quickly squirted a very large blob into his left ear. I tried to get as much whipped cream into his ear as possible. The blob of whipped cream on the left side of his face was as big as an apple.

What happened next was a total surprise, as he started laughing. Then, everyone at the table started laughing, too. These people have no idea how his frequent sarcasm affects me, or that I had intended to stab him in the ear with a knife. In addition, they do not know about the daily violence I experience or my increasing anger, desperation, but determination to deal with it. The laughing surprised me the most and, even more surprising, no one punished or disciplined me for acting out. The rest of the breakfast finished without further incident. Ted seemed to be a little more respectful to me after that breakfast event.

I will never understand how this makes sense to the adults in my family. I do not understand their blindness to brutality and, of all things, laughing when I acted out. Does that mean that I am getting to be a real member of the family and might gain some respect? No, but this is still a real mystery. Even though things are somewhat better since I turned fear into anger and started aggressively defending myself, I still do not like this world, or living in it. At least, now that we are about four months away from summer, I can look forward to a degree of freedom for three months before school and hell starts all over again.

That family breakfast with Ted was about a month ago now. On this Saturday afternoon, I am sitting outside on the front lawn with my sister Lauren and playing a board game. I have my back to the front sidewalk, when all of a sudden I feel someone grabbing me from behind with big arms around me. I also hear laughter from the person grabbing me and from someone else behind him. Since I was sitting with my legs spread wide and could not get up, I reached up and was able to grab his neck. From my Jujitsu brochures, I learned, for a firmer grip, to grab my left wrist with my right hand instead of hooking my fingers together. With all the strength I had, I pulled his head down, got his big chin over my right shoulder and pressed it firmly against his throat. I could feel his facial muscles react when I started choking him. So he could not hit me, I leaned forward to get the top part of my body as close to the ground as possible. He was thrashing around a lot trying to get his chin off my shoulder, but I held on tight with all my strength. He started crying, but I will not let go.

All of a sudden, from the balcony on the second floor, I heard my mother screaming, “Let him go! He can't breathe!” I am not going to let go because I am angry, want to hurt him for grabbing me and know that since he is a big person he can easily hit me with his fists. Less than a minute later, Mom came running out of the front door from the first floor. As fast as she could, she had come running down the back stairs and then through Grandmother's house to the front door. Now she was shouting, “Let him go, his face is turning blue!” Since my Mom was standing there, I did not think the kid would hit me now, so I let go. When I did, he ran away holding his throat and crying loudly. I looked behind me and to my right and was surprised to see Rick Brown standing on the front sidewalk with a stern expression on his face. Since I had never seen the kid who had grabbed me before, it was obvious that Rick had suggested to this new boy that he grab me. Someday, I am going to kill Rick for all the things he has done to me.

Mom is very upset. She takes me into the house, tells me to sit down and asks, “Why were you strangling that kid?” I said, “Because he grabbed me!” I said. “Still, you were choking him! Did you know his face was turning blue? You could have killed him! Why did you do this? Answer me!” she said. “Mom, this happens to me every day! I get punched and beat up a lot by everybody, even family!” I said. Mom looked very shocked by this statement, got very quiet, with a sad look on her face and went into her bedroom. Going into her bedroom is very unusual for Mom after we have a discussion, I thought. She never reacts this way.

I bit my tongue so I would not yell the rest of my thoughts at Mom. Now, people are grabbing me that I do not know, who want to hurt me, even in my own front yard! I cannot take it anymore! I l have to hurt these people, even the kids that stand by while others beat me up. Yes, it is their fault, too. I go into my room and stare at the two guns in my closet wondering what I can do to end this.

I am a good shot and something has to happen after all these years of fear, abuse, bullying, violence and pain. I am angry with the community, school, church and family. I stare at the guns now every day.

During the last year, my attitude toward violence and bullying inflicted on me has changed dramatically. Now I am ready for a fight at any time. I can never tell when walking around in my neighborhood, or at school, when I might have to defend myself. Therefore, I am always ready for the unexpected, as I may need to respond at any moment.

It is now Sunday morning and I am a little late for church. Arriving at the church, I end up standing in the back to watch the services. This is the last Mass on Sunday at 11:00 AM so the church is full, including the rear standing room area. I am in one of the doorways and behind two young males 2 to 3 years older. One of them, for no reason, turns around, looks me up and down, sneers and whispers," Hello, Fatty.” He calls me other names as well. I am surprised because I never recall seeing these two people before, especially the one insulting me. Evidently, he knew me. The rage starts to swell up in my chest and I grip the gravity blade tightly in the right pocket of my jacket. This seemed to be just typical of my life. Here I was in church, suffering through insults by someone I did not even know! Where should I stab him? According to my books, in order to reach the heart, I should stab him on one side or the other of his spine, and in the middle of his back. When doing so, I should also hold the blade horizontally so the blade would pass between the ribs and reach his heart.