English 101
11 September 2012
BULLIED
Hermit Crab Essay

Little Digs

There are knots in my stomach as I pull on my dark blue jeans. I trace a golden picture frame with my fingers and I glance at the picture from Memorial Day weekend. I frown, knowing that walking into this school people already know who I am. I don't know why the older girls thought my pictures were funny or why they decided to post photos making fun of my friends and me, but they did. How do they know me? I have no idea who they are.

The school is huge, much bigger than Kendal Middle School*. I'm thankful that I didn’t have to take the bus as a freshman, since my neighbor is a senior here and offered to give me rides to school. It was intimidating, walking down from the upper senior lot and not knowing anything about where I go or how to get around. I place my dark hair on the front of my shoulder, and adjusting my light brown, Charlotte Rouse blouse, I head into my new high school.

Clasping onto my folded white schedule with my hands, I walk through the bright hallways to class. I see a lot of familiar faces giving me a smile and a hello. Others, though, are unfamiliar, but for some reason they're staring at me like they know me. Some girls look me up and down, or giggle to their friends. Is there something wrong? Oh, I know these girls. These are the girls who took the pictures making fun of me, the ones who know me, the ones who laugh.

Throughout the week, I notice more dirty looks and giggles. I ignore them; I know I've never done anything to these girls to make them dislike me. I don't even know their names, so how do they know mine? When I turn a corner they whisper, "That’s her… that’s Kennedy".

First Punch

It’s a Friday night and Kendal High* is having a family night at Bruster’s Ice Cream. People from all over the community come to support the school; they buy food so that some of the profit can go towards KHS. I decide to bring my guitar tonight so I can play for my friends while they’re waiting outside in line. My guitar case gets left open as I play my Acoustic Alverez and sing Taylor Swift’s songs. People drop in a few dollars, which I then place into the Kendal* bucket, donating it to support my school.

When I get home, I look through pictures on my digital camera. I come across a video that my friend took of me singing “Our Song” by Taylor Swift and decide to upload it to Facebook. I title it, “Bruster’s Real Ice Cream”. I’ve posted other videos before of songs that I’ve written so that my friends and family can see and listen. I love singing and writing music more than anything.

The next week, I get a phone call from my friend whose older sister is a senior at our school. She tells me one of the senior girls posted a video on Facebook, specifically making fun of me. Quickly I log on Facebook to see what this is all about, I’m not friends with the girl so I cannot see her videos, but my friend and her sister allow me to get on her site so I can watch it. I press play.

The girl is wearing a black and blue dress and I hear familiar giggling coming from the background. She is standing in a bedroom in front of two closed closet doors. I take notice of the girl. She’s wearing her hair like I wear mine, attempting to act like me. A song comes on, playing from an iPod maybe? It’s hard to tell, but it’s blasting. I recognize the song right away because it’s one of my favorites. It’s “Our Song” by Taylor Swift. She begins to dance and sing along to the song exaggerating every lyric and move. Then she does something unexpected, she starts singing lyrics I know. Not because they’re from an artist I know, but because I wrote them. At the end of the video she thanks everybody for coming to Bruster’s and there are more laughs coming from behind the camera. What’s going on? Who is this girl? I soon realize her name is Hadley*. Once I scroll down I see tons and tons of comments. The scary thing is, they all know who she’s making fun of, they all find it hysterical, and it’s all about me. I read the comments and have never met or talked to any of these juniors or seniors. Why are they doing this to me? What did I do?

Bruised

Mom is furious. She wants to get the school involved. Printing out the comments from the video and posts on other peoples’ websites, she reads over them and reassures me that there’s nothing wrong with me. She tells me that these are just mean girls who are insecure and unhappy with themselves. I’m a confident person and have always been. Mom tells me that that’s why they’re doing this, just to be mean.

I realize that things get worse quickly. The hallways that were once bright and welcoming for a moment, no longer feel that way. I try and ignore their smart remarks in the halls, the posts on Facebook, but somehow they seem to follow me everywhere. Friends of mine start to wither away, they don’t stick up for me like they used to. I know it’s because they don’t want to be hated by the older girls too, they want to be liked, just like we all do.

I start to feel excluded and like I can’t trust anyone around me. I find myself writing more music every day, even though it’s making things harder for me. There is a website called UrbanDictonary where people can make up definitions and words about whatever they want to. Sitting in computer class, I find out that apparently I’m the last to know, there’s one written about me. It’s cruel and specifically targeted towards me. Why do people take the time to do these things? It’s bashing my appearance, telling lies about me, and making fun of my music and songwriting. People have been talking about it all day.

I have headaches, but I keep doing what I love, I keep singing. People know me as the girl who plays guitar and sings; clearly it angers them. Why? People are throwing paper at me in the hallways now, shouting at me, “Can I have your autograph?” and others laugh. I come home and cry sometimes to mom. She holds me and tells me to not let them get to me and that I’m strong, but I don’t feel strong, not anymore. I’m not invited out with friends as much, if I am, I don’t feel welcome. People ignore me in the hallways. It hurts, a lot. What’s wrong with me? I can’t think about anything else but what could I have possibly done to have people hate me so much. The house has been egged at least twice in the past week and a half. Sometimes I fake being sick so I don’t have to go to school, but mom knows I’m not sick. She and dad argue about why I’m having so much trouble at school, why my grades are dropping, why are they so mean to me?

Bandaged

It doesn’t stop, the constant harassment. The only thing that helps is coming home and sitting in my bedroom with my guitar and a notebook. When I write I feel happy and nothing else matters. It helps me get through the hard days at school. Now I stay in on the weekends and write; it becomes my main focus.

After sophomore year, the summer flies by, and my parents and I have been talking about transferring high schools. Dad’s against it; he thinks that I’m going to have just as much trouble, especially since we were thinking about an all-girls private Catholic high school in Wilmington, Delaware. There’s a week left of summer and mom enrolled me in a cyber-school for the start of my junior year. This way, I could work on my music and not go back to Kendal*. We also decided to test at Ursuline Academy, the private school. I love Ursuline and while it takes some major convincing, my dad agrees that they can send me there if it makes me happy and if I have a better experience.

When schools starts, I immediately click with a girl that’s just like me. Her name is Stephanie and we begin hanging out all of the time. Her family becomes a second family to me, and I truly cherish every one of my Ursuline sisters. I’m doing really well here, and I’m so thankful I got to transfer schools. My grades are higher and the girls are extremely supportive of my music, they love it. I keep writing along with performing in the school’s talent show. Having the support of all of my Ursuline girls is incredible to me. The younger girls tell me how I inspire them and know all of the words to my songs. I feel at home here, even though I still deal with people talking about me and harassing me from my old school, I’m taking that negativity out of my life. At graduation, our valedictorian, Breanne, is giving her speech. She’s going to Yale and truly touches my heart throughout it. She mentions me in her speech and talks about how she’ll be hearing me on the radio someday. I’m so lucky I’m here. I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be, doing the thing I love the most, my music.

Healed

It’s my first year working at Camp Tockwogh for the entire summer. I grew up coming to camp here since I was eleven years old and now I’m actually a staff member. I teach guitar here, even though I’m usually a waterskiing instructor. I feel happy and at home on the Chesapeake. My nine and ten year old girls run around barefoot in the cabin wearing "hello kitty" pajamas while dancing to my songs that I play for them before bedtime. I teach them that it’s important to include everyone, and that at camp we’re all a family and that we all look out for one another.

I see the sparkle in their eyes, how innocent they are and how fragile each child is, even the older ones that I teach guitar to. They come to me whenever they want to talk about their experiences with being bullied. I know how it feels and it breaks my heart if I see a little girl or boy being left out or made fun of. I don’t tolerate it anywhere. It’s not something that is fun and games; it’s a serious matter that can affect someone for the rest of their life.

My goal here at camp is to help kids grow up with good values, and enjoy every second of their summer. I sit on the sand of "main beach" and look out past the dock, at the glassy water so still and calm. I hear giggling and whispers behind me, but it’s not the kind I used to endure. The kids are playing a camp game and sitting in a circle, digging their toes in the sand. They’re not laughing at a girl who is different, or a boy who tripped and fell. They’re laughing because they’re happy.

I look out to the sunset, before I go join their game, and remember all that I went through. I couldn’t be more thankful - because now I know I can make a difference with these kids. The sky is pink and purple; I stand up, dust off my blue jeans, and go sit next to the little girl who told me today that she wants to get a guitar, and sing - just like me.

*Names changed

© 2012 KennedyAnne