Bullying: A Dangerous and Satirical Hobby

Question of the Day: Have you ever been bullied? Why's it such a big deal?


I know what you're thinking. Here we go again, Anna and her drama. No wait, Here we go again, another "STOP YO' BULLYING, BYOTCH!" campaign. Well guess what? I'm doin' it.

Bullying is a sensitive subject. I've been bullied, and in one of the cruelest ways possible: elementary school. There's something about saturnine remarks about my physical and mental well-being that tweaks a string in my duodenum that makes me detonate and hurl out into a terrifying, hormonal rage of body-produced saline and hoarse-voiced exclamations. 

Or something like that, anyway.

You might say I was "the perfect bullying victim." I came to school every fourth grade day wearing softball shorts from first grade that always had the drawstring hanging out of them and a ripped up Charlie the Unicorn T-shirt, with very messed up hair brushed by a mushroom comb and old stinky exercising sneakers that looked like they should be worn either by a single Olympic athlete or a sixty-two year old fish dog. (Future post!!) Let's not forget the bad habit of tying up my hair into knots and then yanking them out to create even more hair drama and a consistent smelling of fingers for some reason.

 Yeppers, I was pretty much the best target for a bully and the worst for my friends, who slowly slacked off of communicating with me as I dug myself deeper and deeper into emotional trauma. But I was smart, and that's the thing that kept me going.

By fifth grade, I was one of the top ten bullying hot spots of humiliation. I guess I was also taunted for not having much of an outside social life and because I could spell antidisestablishmentarianism in nine seconds flat. On top of that, I wore thick, tacky glasses--which I do not portray on the blog because it interferes with the look of my characters faces--and would burst out crying at any given moment.

 Since third grade, I had attended therapy sessions with a 65-year old psychologist by the name of Elaine Chernoff and spent my moody Tuesday and Thursday afternoons on the comfortable beige couch of her air-conditioned office. 

This also made me the successful rage magnet from my peers. I became known as "The Walking Dictionary/ Encyclopedia," with the names varying depending on the context of what people needed me for. I became an inanimate object, pushed around and grabbed tightly by the arm like a book off the shelf and forcibly told to decipher some word or another, or perhaps define something and then give an in depth explanation. After my services were satiated, I was "relieved of duty" and pushed away coldly. Any time, I could be derpin' around, drinking my apple juice, when suddenly a poplar girl would grab me by the arm and ask me to explain to her what a "pseudonym" was.

 

Comment if you've ever been bullied, or if you can relate to this. Nerds and geeks will one day be your boss, so why not be one instead of taunting one? Never get that promotion....

P.S.: More posts to come!!

P.P.S.: IT'S ALMOST END OF SCHOOL!!!AAAAAAAH!!!

P.P.P.S.: The blog's nearing its first anniversary! June 10th hear we come! Stick around for the celebration...