I know what it feels like because I was also 14, surrounded, and bullied. I was frightened and powerless. Even writing about it now, almost 30 years later, brings a lump to my throat.
The bullying for me started in fifth grade and climaxed when I got to high school. By the beginning of my sophomore year, I had had enough, and like Samantha, I chose to die. I could see no end in site to the pain, isolation, and loneliness. I never intended to hurt anyone; I just could not bear the pain any longer. On Oct. 6 1983, I swallowed a bottle of pills, then asked myself, "What do I do now? Do I call somebody or do I just die?" I decided too just die. I did die, was resuscitated, was in a coma, and was brain dead -- for days. When I awoke, I was angry that I was still alive.
Looking into Samantha's eyes, I feel her. I know her even though we never met. I found out about her on Facebook. Then I went to a memorial page dedicated to her and could not believe my eyes. Even in death, the bullies would not let up. When I looked at their photos, I did not see the sweetness I saw in Samantha's eyes. I saw anger and hatred. I wondered what had happened to these children to drive away their innocence. What could cause them to be so full of hate?
No comments:
Post a Comment