By Lea Altea Winnen
January 22, 2025
When I was about seven years old, I was walking the family
dog around my neighborhood, when some children in my school saw me. They decided
to throw rocks at my head and call me names.
Things like “cow”, “pigface”, “dog”, and “rats’ nest”. I was used to the name-calling, and this kind
of treatment from others attending grade school. So, I did what my dad taught
me to do, which was to ignore them. Some
of the rocks hit the back of my head, which hurt. My dog was just a sweet thing with no protective
instincts, and I was on my own. I
started to cry quietly and just kept going around the block. When I got back home, my dad saw me crying
and asked what was wrong. I told him. He
checked my head, and he asked me to take him to where it had happened. He walked up to the house where the kids were.
He Asked them if they had thrown rocks at his daughter. They said nothing. My dad looked at one of the children and
said, “I work with your father, do I need to talk with him?” The little girl looked scared and started
crying and said, “Please, don’t do that!!!”
My dad then said, “If this ever happens again, I will be talking to your
dad. You better let your friends know that
treating people this way is wrong, and I will not stand for it.”
My dad was my hero that day. My bullying did not stop though,
but it never happened again in that neighborhood. My parents were off and on again for the next
7 years and that made life a bit hard (that is another story). I have always wondered what it was about me
that caused this behavior in others in the first place. Did they see that I was
an easy target? Was it that I cried too easily? Was it that I was addressed by my teachers and
called “lazy” or “stupid”? Did students
see it as strange that I attended a special class to help me learn? Did they see how poor my family was before my
mom met my dad (stepdad, but like a father)?
I was a target for bullies throughout my school years.
In middle school, I
did have a few friends. That was a nice change,
but the bullying continued. I had more of a backbone now, so I felt like I could handle it better, but the reality is, I didn't. Just the same thing, they just got meaner. One day, I had a boy at the beginning of math
class, slam his fist into my calculator, as he walked past my desk. I tried to tell the teacher, but he just
ignored me. It was an expensive
calculator my dad bought me because of my learning disabilities. I struggled with math and reading, and it was
suggested by my special classes' teacher.
My father attempted to talk to
the school, but they did nothing. Most
schools did nothing. They never assisted
me, nor have I had a teacher stand up for me.
I would be called names in classroom environments, and I don’t remember
having a teacher speak up for me ever.
I was beaten up in 9th grade for standing up for
myself, which kind of became a turning point for me with bullies. A group of girls were harassing me in PE. Again, the teacher said nothing, and I told
them to “Kiss Me Ass.” Then, they jumped
me in the locker room. They beat up me not too badly, but I had a goose egg on
my forehead and a black eye. It was that day that some of the girls in the
locker room that saw me get jumped, stood up for me, and helped me to the office.
It got a little easier after I moved to a
new high school. After my parents split up, we moved. When it was just my sister, my mother, and I,
we moved a lot and there were a lot of different schools. That on its own, I
think made things hard. Always being the
new kid was not easy.
I had to just learn to tune out the bullies. I had to learn to turn away and pretend what
they said didn’t affect me. I had to be
cold, aloof, and acted like I didn’t care.
But the truth is I cared. My mom
met my dad when I was about six. She had my sister and me when she was young
and she came from an aggressively abusive environment, which made life hard for
her. She left my bio-father and then
moved around a lot trying to find her way.
I was a pretty warm and open child, maybe a bit of a handful, according
to my mom, but I remember always wanting to hug everyone and being very chatty. Over time that changed, and it changed
me. Was it bullies that did that or
maybe a mix of different environments and experiences that led to this cold and
aloof persona?
Well after high school, I wanted to trust others and care again, so I became
somewhat of a people pleaser. I wanted
to get back to that upbeat and warm child I had left behind. This led to being bullied and abused in past relationships
by friends and lovers. So slowly over
time, I learn to hold back and not care too much. I learned it is better to be cold, and aloof,
but polite than to get caught up in whatever drama comes. I learned to just “let it go” and/or let them
be. This had its good and bad points. I feel like I can’t get too close to others due
to these learned experiences. I still
desire to have deep and meaningful connections with others, but I can never seem
to get past a surface relationship or it because much too like those past
friendships that turn sour, like you are given a piece of lemon when you asked
for lemonade. I’m not going to pretend I don’t have faults
or that many of these patterns are mine in the making. You can understand the repeated patterns and
still get caught up in them without warning until it becomes an afterthought.
I still get worked up in situations where I feel like people
are judging me or looking at me as stupid or lazy due to my learning disabilities,
even now these things haunt me. I
struggle with getting close to people due to my mistrust of most. I am still cold and aloof most of the time,
though I can be very warm and friendly when you get to know me and I have
learned to trust you. I was told by
someone recently, that I “had no friends” due to this fact. No. The
problem is, I feel like I have very few people whom I can trust, and who see me
for me. I find it hard to get close to people
if they display similar behavioral traits to the bullies of my past.
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