Scars of the past

Lately I've been thinking quite a lot about my secondary school years. Quite possibly the worst time of my existence. I do not often talk about this, but I have been badly bullied in my teenage years. It wasn't like the occasional bullying, but especially in my first year of secondary school I've been tormented, broken and bruised by a group of 'popular' kids who strongly disliked me just because I was different. I wasn't interested in boys back then, I wasn't into their kind of music. I refused to adjust to their norms. In return I was called fat and ugly. They would make my school years a living hell. They stalked me online (internet was still up and coming in those days) and threatened and bullied me via msn.

I copied those conversations and sent them to my teacher who did absolutely nothing to help me. Even when my biggest tormentor was kicked off school, things did not stop. Many classmates still called me fat and ugly and said I would never find anyone who would want to date me. They held bets and if they touched me, they would get cheered on, after which they pretended their hands were dirty. I got locked up in the bathroom. Even people who I considered to be friends let me down tremendously, just because they prefered to be associated with cool people.

I have always been a weirdo. A stranger. For a long time I couldn't even bear to look at myself in the mirror. If so many people said I was indeed ugly, then it must be true. What was I worth anyway?
I was lucky enough to find people who actually cared. I was fortunate enough to discover music which took me to other worlds and let me escape the everyday reality of my life. I was lucky enough to be able to fight and conquer my insecurities.
There are so many people who can't do. Every day so many teenagers are bullied to the extent that some do not see the light any more. For them there is only one solution. Death. Their cries for help have gone unnoticed. It has to change.

I saw the facebook profile of the guy who had bullied me most. I was disgusted. Just looking at his face brought back the pain he had inflicted on me. He probably doesn't even remember. He doesn't know that he gave me the scars that will never go away. It doesn't bother him. It doesn't hurt him. I was tempted to leave him a message wishing him hell. I didn't. I'm stronger now. I'm happy now. He means nothing to me anymore and I hope that one day he will just fade to be a distant memory.

There are not enough weirdoes in the world, and with weirdoes I do not mean those who are like fucking insane in a bad way. I mean those who dare to be different. Those who follow their hearts no matter if it takes them to a place different than the norm. Those who are unique, not necessarily in their looks, but also in their minds. Those who dare to fight for what they believe in. We must cherish the weirdoes, no matter what sets them apart. Later in my teenage years I found someone who helped me through difficult times and understood me the way I was, regardless of my complicated thoughts. I wish for everyone who is struggling with who they are or who they want to be to find a person like that.

Remember, always stay who you are. People might put obstacles in your way, but if you conquer these you will conquer everything. Just believe in yourself and never stop fighting.