The Effort to be Understood

df53d14bbf2a0f3be0096305bc7503a2How were you bullied? Why? Was it bullying? How do you define bullying?

Over the past year or so, I’ve met several therapists. There was one official doctor, however whenever she went off for vacation I was left under the care of another and met him or her for my appointment. I often hated it. It was like starting from the beginning again of explaining myself to a stranger.

Yet, what I hated the most was how repeatedly each and everyone asked me a form of the questions above. It was scary, as if they rehearsed with each other before hand because of how often I received these questions.

I understand that they wanted to understand and hear the whole extent of what happened to me as child but often the way they posed the questions made me feel as I had to justify myself. I would feel the sudden urge to prove how I was badly treated for seven years by my peers. I wish I could say it was just one or two while the others watched…but it wasn’t. I was confronted by each and everyone of them during those seven years. I heard things about myself everyday, I didn’t want to hear. At one point it made me paranoid to the point where whenever I saw someone looking at me or whispering something to another person, I believed it was about me and he or she hated me. I remember in elementary school there would be these long tables that could fit ten to twenty people and whichever table I sat on would be empty. I ate alone for pretty much my whole childhood and the days that I did have company would be friends one day and bullies the next.

I have moved on. In fact it’s really hard to even remember many memories from what happened then. The few that I mentioned were some that I grappled and fought to bring forward. Before I would cry everyday during the shower and cry myself to sleep but I’ve reached a point where while writing this, I feel as if I’m writing about someone else’s life.

However, the feeling of having to need to rehearse an answer to prove what I went through reminds me of the countless of adults I went to as a child, to seek for help who either chose to turn a blind eye or take the side of the very ones that were tormenting me.

I don’t hate the people that ask these questions. In fact I understand them.

…I just wish they could do the same.




  1. I was bullied, as well. The blank spot in memory may be your mind’s way of protecting you…Extremely fearful experiences are like that, so it makes sense that you had to work to bring them to remembrance.
    I’m so glad you’re in a better place now.

    Liked by 1 person

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