A few days ago I started thinking about some of my experiences in high school. Despite lots of amazing, there were times that I can only describe as dark and they had a profound effect on me. I decided to write it down. The result is a sort of essay. I’ve decided that as I edit it and refine it, I’ll post it serial style and then post the full version at the end.
I have no idea why I was bullied.
I do know, at times (that are more often than not), that I think there was something about me that led to the bullying. I’m pretty sure that I never did anything so that I deserve to be targeted. Scratch that, I know I didn’t do anything to deserve it. That doesn’t seem to matter because my default position is one where I try to figure out what was wrong with me.
Not the me now mind you. I’m awesome now, but maybe I wasn’t so awesome back then, or maybe I was. I don’t know.
I spent my first two years of high school abroad, in two different international schools and then returned home to Canada for the last two (or three). I wasn’t bullied until I came back “home”. That’s always been the most curious thing to me.
Why not there? Why here? I’m pretty sure that I was the same kid the whole time.
End of Part One