The Only Thing I Remember About School.

Most people I know can recall both happy and bad times at school.

I recently discussed this with a friend who smiled as she told me about her favourite playground games, passing her exams, friends, boyfriends, lessons, and her most enjoyable pursuit of all time, chasing boyfriends. She also remembered getting into petty arguments in the playground and disagreements she had with teachers.

She told me that her biggest regret was missing lessons she did not like, because it affected her grades.

She was stumped when I told her that my memories of school were not happy ones.

I spent all my years from Primary School to leaving high school being bullied, so my biggest memories of school are crying, being terrified to go to school, being ashamed of myself, and getting hurt.

I didn't have to do anything wrong other than be myself to get punched, kicked, headbutted, have my hair pulled, poked and called names, and it was worse when I got to my high school years.

I had to force myself to go to school in the morning, and I can not express the sheer terror I faced before I even got there. Like many older children my age, I used to walk to school, and I was a nervous wreck when anyone, even my true friends, asked if they could walk with me because I never knew whether they were true friends or if I was being set up to be bullied.

Some of these bullies would manipulate me into believing they were friends.

They would be kind to me in class, help me with lessons, show friendship, and even apologise for the bullying until I was in the playground or walking home from school, then they would resort to hurting me again.

Unknown to my parents, I didn't get a break when I wasn't at school either. Some of these children would call for me, act friendly in front of my parents, and pretend to like me, until we were alone.

I didn't know where to turn.

I tried telling my parents and my teachers, but a lot of the time these bullies would make out that I had done something wrong, often getting me into trouble to a point where I chose to hide behind the mask of a brave face, in silence, because I feared getting hurt or getting into trouble.

I hated myself so much as a child, teenager, and young adult.

I couldn't bring myself to look in the mirror and think I was pretty. I wore a ton of makeup to cover my imaginary flaws because those bullies (some who were over the age of 18) told me I was ugly, and I felt fat in everything I wore.

I started masking my fragile self underneath a fake confidence, and I faked being tough because when I tried to talk about it, the adults would see me as soft for not fighting back.

I knew what it was like to get hurt, so I decided that violence wasn't the answer.

One day, I was playing in the street, and a boy violently bullied me. It started happening every time I went outside. I was thrown to the ground, booted in the head, and punched in the nose.

Most of the time, I got up and walked away. Sobbing, I would go indoors, terrified and in tears. I pleaded with the adults to make him stop, only to find myself faced with threats and being called soft.

One of these adults said to me,

"Get out there and hit him back, or I will hit you."

I stormed out, and out of sheer terror, I hit him in ways that I would have never dreamed of hitting anyone in my life.

When I stepped back inside the house, I was shaking and sobbing because I did not want to do what I had just done.

I had only reacted to stop the adults from hitting me, and to this day, I still feel bad about it.

I got a profound apology from that boy recently, who is now my age. He regrets bullying me as much as I regret hitting him, though he understands my reaction.

We are friends now, and he explained that he was being bullied too, and he was being abused at home.

If you knew him today, you wouldn't ever think that he used to be a bully. He works with bullies and their victims.

He tries to help the bullies consider the pain they are inflicting, and supports the victims in standing up for themselves, whilst also counselling them.

This doesn't mean I ever forget those memories. I never will. It does mean that I can see how some people change, and the damage that bullying and abuse can cause.

When being asked about school life, I can only remember the tears, pain, and loneliness I felt.

Those days were the loneliest days of my life.

I remember sitting on the corner of the steps, crying with my head down, feeling ashamed of my singing because I was bullied for that, and being picked on for wanting to make a career out of it, not wanting to come out of the toilets because I was being sexually abused in there, and I felt nobody would believe me.

Talking about school is triggering.

Not every child has happy memories, and they are worse when the bad things don't stop after leaving school.

Today, people are more aware of bullying. However, talking doesn't stop the bullying, nor does teaching children and teens not to be bullies.

A child can come from a happy home and still be a bully.

Some adults continue to be bullies, long after they have been dealt with for it.

We may never be able to stop it, but those of us who know and understand the pain it causes can show our kinder hearts and continue to be there for the victims by standing up for them and letting others know that we don't tolerate it.

We can also show kindness by remembering that whilst many people have had a happy school life or upbringing, others haven't.

Judging others for being affected by something that seriously affected them in their past is not the right approach. Even if you don't understand, you can show kindness by offering friendship and a listening ear.