I was asked to do this a long time ago (write a story for this site). At first it seemed ridiculous to even think about it and then I became interested and lastly, worried. What can you say about your life? Will anyone be interested in what I have to say? Will anyone find this helpful? Will I come off as wrong or naïve? I decided that I just had to swallow whatever fear of being judged I had and just do it.
This all steamed from someone reading my dark poetry on my Facebook page and it seemed to resonate with a lot of people. They found comfort in the fact that I didn’t sugar coat sadness or anger and just said what I needed to say.
The dark part of my writing can go back to my younger days at school and it started when I was in grade six. Now, you have to understand, I was new to a new city, a new school, and it was grade 6/7 split class. I have a Hyperthyroid and Hypoglycemia which literally means that no matter what I eat I stay scary thin and I am severely deprived of sugar, potassium and iron so I faint a lot. So you can imagine how a skinny little girl who was pasty white would look to her new class. At first I was the newest exhibition on display for everyone to gawk at and I was and still am horribly shy so I wouldn’t say a word. Then came the abuse.
It started with the word “anorexic”. I knew what it meant and I was heartbroken and so embarrassed when it became an everyday ritual. Nobody knew then that I was on a “junk food” diet where I could eat anything I wanted just so I could gain weight and man, did I ever struggle with that. I remember asking a boy once, while I was crying so hard, trying to hide my boney arms why he couldn’t stop calling me that and his answer was “you look like a skeleton, you look dead”, and I ran out of class and into the washroom where I just wanted to hide.
Teachers never got involved, and although my mother did, kids were fueled by the parent stepping in (because loving your child obviously makes your child weak) and thusly starting the physical portion of the abuse. Amazingly enough it was always boys that would do it, from being pushed forcefully against a wall because I was in someone’s way, having another boy trip me on a patch of ice where I ended up smacking my head and cutting it on the ice to another boy actually grabbing a huge rock and while I was laying on the grass, with my eyes closed, hitting me over the head, on a “dare”.
Come high school, I hated everything and everyone. I was a late bloomer (due to the Hyperthyroid…and bad genes) so girls would break into my locker and leave a box of Kleenex with words that would reference how I didn’t have breasts like they did and if I needed to, I should use that to make it look like I had something. That was in grade 10. This is when I thought daily about suicide. I hated the way people treated me and I never would say anything back or retaliate in any way. I never understood why people were so mean to me when I was harmless. Then came the day when I finally had had it.
The way I ended up dealing with it was wrong but it is my story so I figure I should tell you the truth. I turned to fighting. No, I wouldn’t call myself a fighter per se but if someone attacked me, I attacked back.
There was a girl who use to push me into lockers and on the ground, even spit at me at one point and one day she finally caught the angry side of Marli. It was the usual belittling me in front of the smoke pit (yes I smoke, but it is bad so do as I say, not as I do) and the threatening to “kick your ass”. I was and still am a very witty person and quite quick with comebacks and so when she said “this is my smoking bit bitch and you can’t be here”, I finally used my voice and said “out of all the things you could possibly claim, you’ve decided to claim a picnic bench beside a dumpster? Fitting I guess.” You could read the sea of emotions flash across her face from shock, to confusion, to realization and then finally to anger controlled by humiliation. It was amazing to see how I could change a situation just with words but that happiness was soon diluted by her idiot sidekick when she decided to charge at me and fully knowing she was going to hit me I just wound up and punched her out….a couple times. As much as it isn’t cool to fight, I had enough of the abuse and it has been going on for years. There were more altercations but the quantity and receptiveness is counterproductive.
From the time I got out of high school until now has been a growing process and learning how to love myself and be comfortable with how I look and who I am. I can’t change how I look, how I feel or my past but I can accept what I cannot change and learn valuable lessons for the future. I love myself, and I can fuck up as much as any other person but I know that I want to do good and want to show girls, women, boys and men how to appreciate themselves and stop worrying about the little shit. A lot of those people who bring you down in school will apologize in the future, trust me, it happens all the time and the heart never forgets and shame on you if you do but it will heal and it will get easier to move on for yourself. You are a miracle every day you wake up and you are a miracle to a lot of people in your life. And remember that we are not a minority in the harassment department. It’s worldwide, everyone has been there and there is ALWAYS someone who has it worse than you. High school is 4-5 years and then it just gets easier, I promise and as for the dark thoughts and sadness? It lifts. It’s always there, it creeps back in when you are feeling your absolute worse, but you have to remember what you are worth and how you deserve nothing but the absolute best and it will pass, like all bad things do.
I still fight my dark demons every day, that’s why I write the dark poetry and that is why I try and remember daily that, this too shall pass. This too, shall pass.
by Marli A., age 25
by Twitch, age 13
by Courtney S., age 14
by Krystal Germiquet aka LovingMentalMama, 32
by bball_luver12, highschool student