There was a day when he was happy, he didn’t worry about anything, didn’t need to, it all started from about year 2 in school, and never stopped. He was an outsider, he knew this. He always would be. He was an easy target, never learned how to stand up for myself. He would sit in a corner of school and cry, while they walked around calling him names. I tried not to let it bother him, but it did… it really did. People he didn’t even know, in older years used to do it, shout across the playground, push him over, throw basketballs at his head during P.E, swing crickets bats at him. There seemed to be nothing he could do to stop it.
When he was that young he was only small, I couldn’t stand up for himself. The only person he told about this was my granddad, he was the only one he could talk to. He was bullied at home, his older brother would push him, hit him, and kick at him. His father was always working or shouting at him for things he hadn’t done. His mum was always shouting, calling him names. As he got older nothing got better, it just got worse. He left primary school with few friends, and went into secondary school, hoping to have a new start, hoping that things might be different. His granddad died shortly after, this hit him pretty hard.
he went in to secondary school, got a group of friends, thought he was doing ok, then everything started again. Calling him names, push him around. But he would rather be there than at home. When his parents were actually in and not working, his mum started telling him that she hates him, really hates him. She kept looking for ways to kick him out of the house, to get rid of him, he had no one in the world left to talk to, and there was nothing he could do. His parents telling him they hate him, he just thought to himself, if even my own parents hate him, then everyone must hate him too.
He carried on going to school, knowing that the day ahead was going to be full of pain. He saw the looks they gave him, the ones that weren’t brave enough to shout out anything at him. His so called friends started saying that he was thick, stupid, worthless, ugly, fat… and this was exactly how he felt. They told him it so often that he started believing it. He got depressed and felt so trapped. And there was no way out, nothing he could do to make things better. He was being bullied everywhere he went. He tried going out walking by himself to try to clear his head, this just resulted in him getting beat up. He would sit in his room for hours a night and cry.
He started self-harming, then he got a few close friends, started smiling again, he was happy. He stopped self-harming. Then his best friend tried to kill herself, she went into hospital, then got taught at home, and he never saw her again. He started getting depressed again, his best friend had left him, alone again. His parents were still telling him that they hated him, shouting at him, mum hitting him, brother hitting him. He started self-harming. Shortly after his 16th birthday he died and lost his fight with his worthless and cruel life which gave him nothing except pain and hatred.