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It Gets Better: Beyond the Bully

edward gorey alphagorey

Illustration by Edward Gorey

I remember seeing the series of illustrations, where this picture came from, when I was very young. The series is called Alphagorey and it lists all the ways little kids perish, their names moving through the alphabet one by one. Lonely Neville, here on the left, stayed most persistent in my brain. The idea that a little boy could die from sheer loneliness, it was chilling and captivating at the same time. I wondered how it was possible, but I was young then and had no idea how close I was to finding out. You see, I can only remember this illustration from my youth now because I survived my youth to begin with and the terrible bullying and intimidation that went with it.

In recent weeks we have seen a growing number of young teen suicides, mainly dealing with LGBT youth, who are choosing to take their own lives instead of continuing as the verbal and physical punching bag for school bullies (Seth Walsh, Tyler Clementi, Raymond Chase, Billy Lucas, Asher Brown). My personal situations may not match the exact words being used in these disgusting displays of social brutality, but the words are only the handle of the weapon, the intent is the blade which cuts deeply and tries to tell us all that we are not right, we are not normal and we are not good enough to live among what our attackers feel is the “majority”. Nothing could be further from the truth and if you’re the object of bullying right now it may not seem like there is a light anywhere to be seen, but you have to trust me, it’s there just beyond those dark days. Let me share with you so you can see where I am coming from.

I was a really scrawny and tiny kid growing up, much smaller than everyone else, even some of the girls. On top of that the one thing I inherited from my father was ears that pop out like they are trying to run away from my head. I became the class clown, made all the big kids laugh in an effort to keep them off my case. This worked well for the early years of elementary school, but then a new kid transferred in who really wasn’t much for comedy. That began three years of intense intimidation, extortion, constant threats of violence and a complex combination of mental and emotional abuse. The only solace, which was a sad one indeed, was my best friend at the time was being bullied by the same kid, so we had only each other’s small shoulders to lean on during the worst moments. The torment didn’t end until my last year in elementary school when another new kid, a bigger new kid, came to our school. Luckily, he loved to laugh at my jokes. He became my protector and the bully was quickly less interested in me and my friend.

Alone, that might not be that bad in the grand scheme of things, but bullying followed me into high school as well. I was born Jewish in a mainly Catholic area of New Bedford, MA, a mixture of Irish and Portuguese denominations. When I went to synagogue as a child I was only one of two kids who didn’t live in the neighboring town of North Dartmouth (the only other one came from Fairhaven). I was already a member of the minority in public school and in Hebrew school, treated as such by members of each. In Hebrew school I was looked at as the poor white trash townie kid who didn’t have the money to live where the upper class Jews were, while in public high school I was taunted daily in class by someone who felt it was his duty to routinely interrogate me on why I killed his lord and savior. The daily abuse eventually took a toll when I decided to start playing sick instead of going to school. One day led to two, which led to three and eventually I had been out for nearly three weeks straight. I developed a psychological fear of going back to school and what was once an imaginary condition had become full blown reality. I couldn’t even get in the car to head to school without launching into a fit of dry heaving and choking. Finally I had to go in, just for an appointment with the guidance counselor to talk about my options, which were either get back into class and not miss any more days or be left behind. To me, being left behind was not a bad option, but my mom felt otherwise, and rightly so. Once the meeting was over my mother told me I had to stay there and go to class because she wasn’t allowed to take me off school property without just cause. Crying nearly as much as I was, she left me in the stairway of my building, hoping I would calm down once she was gone. I descended into a near nervous breakdown and hid beneath the stairs for two more class periods. Some kids noticed me between periods, but mostly they just left me alone. The next day I went back to that same counselor and told her that because of a loophole I found in the student handbook, she had to transfer me out of the class with the bully immediately. Even though we both knew the reasoning was a lie, she went along with it. I moved out of the class and was able to mostly avoid confrontation with that particular bully for the rest of my time at high school.

Now, I know this is a long post, but I wanted to try and share the little bit of my experiences with bullies and put it out there for anyone that might need to hear it, it does get better. I know what I went through is probably a shadow of what these LGBT kids are going through today, especially in a society where one side is marching, whooping and hollering for equality, while the other side is passing one law after another denigrating gays as a lower class of human. For those old enough to watch the news, it’s even worse when they hear about socially legitimate bullies like Michigan Assistant Attorney General Andrew Shirvell and his hate-filled quest to demonize Chris Armstrong, the first openly gay student body president of the University of Michigan (UPDATE: Shirvell has now been banned from the college campus and taken a leave of absence from his office), or Senator Jim DeMint, who argues that homosexuals and unmarried pregnant women shouldn’t be hired as teachers because they aren’t morally qualified. Lastly, there is Carl Paladino, Tea Party-backed nominee for Governor of New York, who just stated in a campaign speech: “I don’t want them [our children] brainwashed into thinking that homosexuality is an equally valid and successful option — it isn’t…”

It can be hard to see the forest through the trees, but there is another side, a heather-filled field you can stand in and feel the wind rush through your outstretched fingers. You will be able to look back at that dark forest and know you made it out the other side. Suicide, while quick, is far from painless, especially to those you leave behind who care, love and cherish you for exactly who you are. Due to the recent escalation of child suicides, many in the public eye have been standing up and stepping out, making their voices heard in a variety of campaigns, It Gets Better, The Trevor Project and other methods. Here is only a taste of it: Jay Manuel, Dave Navarro, Adrianne Curry, Ryan Murphy, Sia, Sarah Silverman, Daniel Radcliffe, Neil Patrick Harris, Anne Hathaway, Dane Cook, Tim Gunn, Cyndi Lauper, Ke$ha, Zachary Quinto, . Beyond that chorus of positive energy, there are also a number of groups out there designed specifically for those who might even begin to contemplate taking their own life. I am a huge supporter of To Write Love on Her Arms, who just passed four years of amazing work helping at-risk youth and getting the message out there about suicide prevention.

Please, feel free to spread this story as far as you like, or write about your own experiences with bullying. We need to do everything we can to show these kids that they are not alone and they have another way out. Thank you in advance.

Posted 1 year, 4 months ago at 2:19 pm.

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To Write Love on Her Arms

I have been blessed in my life with an amazing family and amazing friends and those two things combined have helped me through many dark times, but not everyone has such a solid network to lean upon and when they look for that support only to find empty stares and muted voices, they sometimes turn towards desperate ends. I’ve met and been introduced to a growing number of people who have attempted suicide, many in completely different manners, but the one thing which connects them all is they are still here to talk about it and for that I am extremely grateful.

Too many people in this world look down on people with suicidal tendencies as weak and think they need to buck up and learn to deal like the rest of us, but what those people never choose to learn is what would drive someone to make such a terrible and final decision. The sceptics might be surprised how strong these so-called ‘weak people’ are for just enduring what they have up to that point and many times there are factors which were never in their control, like chemical imbalances and hereditary conditions.

So, for those people in need, the ones I have met and the ones I hope to meet someday in their hopefully happy futures, I am thrilled there are groups out there like this one. To Write Love on Her Arms is a suicide prevention group which states their mission as:

To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.  TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

Even if you have never known anyone who has attempted or succeeded at suicide, trust that there are many out there and they could all use a helping hand, or sometimes just a working ear and an open heart. Please click through, find out more about them and support them if you can.

p.s. Also, it doesn’t hurt that their online store has some really cool shirts. I rock mine whenever it’s clean. :)

Posted 1 year, 8 months ago at 5:09 pm.

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One Day for Another: It’s Never to Late

I don’t know the words to express how I feel right now, but as a writer words are all I have, so I’m going to  do my best to find some of the right ones. A dear, close friend of mine was already going through a tough time in her life when things drastically went from bad to worse to unimaginable. The horrors she was put through are nothing short of inhuman and the pressure of dealing with them felt insurmountable. There is no way for me to look through her eyes in this situation, no way for me to even begin to empathize, no way to know how hard it was to reach out and ask for help.

There are things in this life that no one is meant to deal with. Pressures and emotions heightened to such extents leaving normal human capabilities far behind. So what are people supposed to do then? Do they have to become superhuman? Do they have to make themselves more than everyone else just to stay afloat in a life proving once and again to be unfair towards them? I wish I could say no, I wish I could say that people could just take a deep breath and things will suddenly be alright, but ignoring that type of pain is comparable to standing on train tracks and ignoring the rumbling getting louder beneath your feet. We all need to step up in those moments and do anything we can to help deal with this unequal reality, not just the victims, but those people close to them as well. The hands of the victim need to unwrap from around themselves, where they desperately try to hold themselves together, and reach out for the arms, hands, shoulders and chests all ready and willing to share in whatever small piece of the burden available to them. I’ve spent my share of time locked up in my room, hiding from the light, hiding from the outside world, only in the hopes that someone would come looking for me, but the responsibility is on both sides. We need to learn to reach out so we can in turn teach others how to reach back.

I realize that this might seem a tad vague, which is intentional because those details are her story to tell or not tell, not mine. What I hope for, what I wrote this entry for is to remind everyone out there to take a moment today, tomorrow, every day to think about those close to you. Think about someone you haven’t spoken to in a while and drop them a line, just remind them you’re out there and that you care. Just that small offering of an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on can mean the difference between seeing the light and walking towards it. And for those people who might be reading this and are on the other side of the equation, don’t wait one more second to reach out and ask for help. There are people who care about you, people who know and love you, even people who have never met you, they are all ready and willing to drop it all to be there for you when you need it. If you find your circle of friends and family not as strong or responsive as you hoped, don’t despair, there are so many others on call at that very moment. Please follow this link to the Find Help section of To Write Love on Her Arms. This list is only the tip of the iceberg of support services and hotlines. These people are here for you. You are never alone and it is never, ever too late.

Posted 3 years, 8 months ago at 8:04 am.

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