I just wanted people to accept me at the school and to have friends. I went to bed after a confusing day. I did not want to sleep as I was afraid that I would snore, so I just looked at the Madonna picture and thought of what experienced. I was teased a lot, but I was also part of the cool boys club while they smoked their cigarettes. Garret was speaking with me, and he could be a good friend. I had to have hope and think that I was good enough that people would like me. It would be a mistake if I tried too much as this would make me look desperate.
People did hear me snore that night and to make things worse, I wet the bed! I waited for everyone to leave the dorm and changed the bedsheets and took a shower. This meant that I missed breakfast. I did not worry so much about breakfast, I was more worried about wetting the bed. I was now a teenager. Why did this have to happen to me now?
I met Andrew before classes started, and he totally ignored me. Then I found Garret that was speaking with his friends. He told me that he did not have time to speak with me. This was strange as he was not doing much except talk with others.
It did not go better during classes. Everyone said that they did not want me to sit close to them. I usually ended up in the corner of the room. It was strange and hard just sitting there and watching others chat and laugh. At the start, I would try to say something but everyone would just give me a strange look as if to ask who gave me permission to speak.
I thought that Garret was my friend, but when I tried to greet him during lunch break, he just walked. I tried to follow him and ask how his classes were. Garret did not say anything and just walked quicker. When I was nearly jogging I got the message. This was humiliating as it showed how desperate I was for a friend. I shouted that he could have at least told me he did not want to be with me. Garret looked back and said, “Why would I want to be seen with the school’s sissy?”
Why did everyone think that I was a sissy? I did not know that Andrew told everyone that there were flowers on my jeans. Otherwise, Mom always got me unisex clothes. I admit that some of them did look feminine, but I was not that interested in fashion and did not realize it. I was one of those that were happy to be in the school uniform.
We were getting changed after school and by now I knew that no one was interested in what I had to say. The boys looked at me and teased that I had no hair on my legs or anywhere and that I had no six-pack. They joked and said that I had no muscles. To make things worse, they laughed that I was not wearing boxers but briefs with a cartoon of Daisy Duck on them. I was told that at my age, I should be wearing boxers and not girl panties.
One boy shouted that I looked like a princess. This sealed my fate, and I was now known as the school’s princess. It became my nickname from that moment and it was here that people stopped using my real name. It was not the worse nickname I heard, but it hurt as I knew it was not meant as something nice, a constant reminder that I was different. The boys would never accept me. They would always see me as a sissy and someone strange.
This was confirmed that night when we had supper. I tried sitting at a table and was told that girls were not allowed to sit there. I ended up in the corner of another table with boys that were not popular. This did not stop them from reminding me that even they had a higher status than me. They teased about my high-pitched voice and joked that I would be in retirement before it broke.
We had Choir practice that evening and the teacher was quite pleased with me and proud that I was a part of the choir. This was the one place that I shined and felt like I was good and wanted. The brother said that my voice was suitable for solos, and I was proud to do them. In a way, I would sing the solo and think that I was no longer being ignored or an outcast. Even when I sang with the other choir members, I felt part of the group and that I was part of the common voice the choir had.
Singing in the choir had consequences. After supper, I was walking around when a boy called Brian came up to me and without warning pushed to the ground. While I was on the ground confused and shocked, they kicked in the stomach over and over again. I felt so much pain. I was unable to stand up and defend myself. The bully continued to kick me as he told me that he was the star of the choir until I came. Then he left me on the ground in pain and in tears.
Andrew walked by as I was on the ground and unable to get up. I was in tears and in shock. Andrew sighed as he saw me and told me that I was a wimp and wondered why I did not even put up a fight. Andrew did not help me and walked on. This hurt just as much as the kicks. I felt as I was not important enough for someone to help me.
It seems like I was in one bad situation after another. No matter what I did, bad things happened. Even when I slept, I would wake up realizing that I wet myself. This made me an emotional wreck, as I was so worried that the others would find out. I would be known as the school's sissy and bed wetter. It took a lot of energy to hide the bed-wetting and often meant more tears and of course no breakfast.
I found the weekends to be both misery and long. Most went home and I would be alone. This was a feeling that I hated. During the week, I was mocked and teased, but at the weekends I would be by myself. The silence and nothing to do was torture in itself. The only thing I could do was to go on long walks which meant that I thought a lot. I tried to remember not to feel sorry for myself or consider myself a victim of bullying but this was hard to do.
It was on one of these long walks that I met the choir leader. He was all smiles and happy to see me. He told me that he was so happy that I was in the choir and that I would audition for the musical that was one of the main events of the school year. I swung my legs as I told him that I no longer wanted to be in the choir and I did not like musicals. This was far from true! I loved the choir and loved singing in it. I just valued my life more.
“So you are quitting the choir!” he said in a disappointed voice, “The choir is important for the school and it was important for us that you were in it. Your voice made the choir much better. There must be a reason why you are stopping. Fine, have your way. You are letting the school down. I thought you were a team player and wanted to help the school.”
I could not tell him the real reason why I stopped. The other boys in the choir did not want me. I had black and blue marks to prove it.
I walked for a bit feeling like the world crashed around me as I quit the only good thing about the school. While I was deep in thought, I bumped in Brother Francis. He was in charge of the dorms and was very popular. It was like he was a friend to everyone. He told me that we had to have a talk.
“We have not talked much,” he said, “It’s a shame that our first talk should be about this. I know that you have a problem when you sleep. You wet the bed. This school has a strict apology for those that wets the bed. They must wear protection as we do not want to be washing our sheets all the time. I know you are older than the boys that usually wet the bed, so I want you to try to solve the problem. There must be a reason why you wet the bed. If you cannot solve the problem, then the option is diapers.”
I was sure that nothing worse could happen in my life.
The boys came back after their weekend home, and I was once again the outcast. I would be invisible to everyone unless they wanted someone to pick on. I was called a princess and teased that I could be a girl. They constantly asked if I was gay. The fact that people thought I was gay was one reason no one wanted to be close to me. They did not want others to think that there was something romantic going on.
Being teased and bullied was a new experience for me. I was always accepted in my old school and was respected. I never thought of those that were at the bottom of the class hierarchy. Now I was at the bottom and it was constant pain and humiliation. I began asking myself if they were right. Was I weird and was there something wrong with me. It made me think that they knew that I was abused by so many gay men. Maybe Andrew was right. Why did I not stand up and say no! Why did I accept it? The fact was that I did accept the abuse despite how much it destroyed my soul. It was the same now… I was accepting being the victim.
I went to the small chapel in the school and looked up at Jesus hanging on the cross.
“Is this a test?” I pleaded to him, “You were tortured and crucified. I am being teased and bullied. How do I stop it? Every time I try something, it becomes worse. Am I weird? Am I a sissy? I am so different that I am a joke? Do I just accept this or what should I do? I can’t take much more of it. Tell me, Jesus, what should I do?”
To be continued
ns 15.158.61.20da2
