Bullied, Broken, Bruised

“You shouldn’t get those pants. Your legs are too long for skinny jeans, and they make your butt look weird.”

I look at my reflection in the dressing room mirror, turning from side to side to ponder her words. I don’t think I look bad in them; actually I quite like this pair.

“No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll get them.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Cassian, you’re supposed to trust your friends here. You’re going to look like you’re trying too hard if you wear them. I thought you wanted to learn how to dress better?”

With another glance in the mirror, I start to see what she means about the pants.

It’s instances like that that don’t catch most people’s attention. It’s just one girl giving another girl clothing advice, right? I guess it could be characterized like that, and at the time that’s all I thought it was, but I’m no longer convinced.

Over the next six months, the things she said to me got worse and worse. I remember some of them very sharply.

“Everyone cringes around you because you’re socially awkward.”

“Yeah, you’ll wind up at college. You’re too nerdy not to keep trying to be that ‘smart girl.’”

“I mean, you’re pretty, but…”

“Stop pretending to be so nice. We both know you’re an awful person.”

“It’s ok, you’re too naïve to ever understand sex. I feel sorry for whoever you wind up with. Talk about not the best wedding night ever. If he even cares to wait that long.”

I’ll call her J. Yes, I will always protect her privacy, even now, over four years later. It is possible that someone reading this post will know who I’m talking about, because I still know some of the people I knew during high school. If you, my friend reading this, know who I’m talking about, keep that secret to yourself. Please, don’t say a single thing to a single person. J has been hurt throughout her life, and she doesn’t need more. Protect her and keep her out of it. This is about me, not about her.

So back to me.

The basics of our story go something like this.

Through 10^th grade, I thought that we were great friends. We did pretty much everything together.

To be honest, I’m still not 100% sure why things started changing. I know a guy was involved somehow, and there was a lot of drama in her life she wouldn’t tell me about. The biggest thing I remember is that slowly our friendship grew to the point where everything I did was wrong.

I looked wrong, I spoke wrong, I acted wrong, I dressed wrong; it was all wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG.

Through fall of 11^th grade, it escalated further. She started saying those short little sentences to me, and they got worse as time went on. I would stand up to her, and every time she could somehow convince me that I needed her in my life.

I don’t fully remember why we stopped talking. Somehow, something happened between semesters in 11^th grade, and we weren’t friends any more. Or, maybe we were friends, but were “on the rocks.” I’m not entirely sure what it should have been defined as. But regardless of classification, and in spite of not spending time with her, it kept getting worse.

During February of 11^th grade, we were at the same dance class one evening. She came up to me, asking to talk to me in the back room. I told her no.

“What, are you scared?”

“J, I’m not scared of anything. Especially not you. But I’m not stupid enough to go into a room with you where there won’t be anyone else around.”

“Right, that’s a likely story.”

“If you want to talk to me, I’m open. But talk right here.”

She purses her lips, giving me a look that instantly reminds me of the finest poison a human can obtain.

I spread my hands out, palms up in a sign of peace. “If you want to talk, talk here. If you don’t want to talk here, then I’m going back to dancing.”

On the way out an hour later, I can feel her glaring at me from across the room. As I stroll through the foyer, I hear someone running up behind me, and right when I turn my head to glance over my shoulder, brute force slams into my chest and ribs. I’m shoved against the wall, the air knocked painfully from my lungs.

She pulls her arm back to punch me, but mercifully one of her friends grabs her and hauls her off of me.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU CALL FRIENDSHIP?!” She shrieks at me, along with a few other choice words.

I stand there, hand pressed to my aching side, still in a bit of shock from the attack. She continues to yell and scream hysterically at me, struggling with frightening ferocity against her friend who holds her back. I start to say something, to object that we haven’t been friends in two months at least, but she isn’t listening, so instead I take the advice of her friend and leave as quickly as my legs will carry me.

My parents were in an uproar that evening. I’m still not sure if J or my mom frightened me more.

Nothing was broken from her slamming into me, but I did have a hefty bruise on my side for several weeks.

My mom wanted me to quit soccer since J was on the team as well. I told her I would think about it, if things got worse.

They did.

She began spreading rumors that I was sleeping around with a few different guys, one of whom was dating another friend of mine. People would ask me about these rumors, always with a sheepish expression of “hey, I heard this about you…is it true?” Within a few weeks after the physical attack, I was fighting tooth and nail to keep my reputation.

Then I started getting terrible texts out of nowhere. Sadly, some of them are still burned into my memory. I can even remember what type of phone I had at the time and what color the background was set on.

Don’t even think about being friends with him, you [insert several horrible and derogatory words].

Who the [choice word] do you think you are by talking to those people?

Just get out of my life! Stop acting like little miss perfect. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

Everyone hates you, so you should just get out of everyone’s lives.

I know there were more, but those are the ones that hurt the most.

My mom couldn’t stand the fact that I wouldn’t quit soccer. I’m pretty sure we had a few rows about that (sorry, Mommy!). But I just couldn’t give in and let J win. Letting her win in any way would only make her torture worse.

So I kept playing soccer, and wondrously things did calm down. She and I almost got into a fight at practice one day, but I walked away quickly when I realized what was starting. Halfway through the season, she dropped the team, and I think I’ve seen her in passing only four or five times since then.

The repercussions from all of this were almost more tragic than actually going through it. I wound up seeing a psychologist for a while after I realized that in some place in my train of thought the idea “should I still exist?” came up. Even now, every once in a while when a girl acts a certain way toward me I’ll flinch and my heart will beat faster for a minute or two.

But God has miraculously healed many things. Even during 11^th grade, He blessed me mightily and brought my dear best friend to me, and every day I’m thankful for her and her heart towards me. Since coming to college, He has redeemed to me my ability to trust the other women in my life, to the point where I absolutely love developing deep friendships with them and encouraging them.

I’ve experienced deep freedom in being Cassian simply because that’s who He made me to be.

I do wear skinny jeans. They’re my faves.

Sure, I’m awkward, but people don’t actually care that much.

I am at college, and not because it’s the “smart girl” thing to do, but because I want this degree and the possible future that it can bring.

God tells me I’m beautiful, and His gentle words are better than any a human can possibly utter.

I don’t want to be “nice,” actually. “Nice” makes me cringe. But I do want to be genuinely kind, and He shows me how.

God gave me life. He breathed life into me, formed me while I was growing, and brought me up to love Him. This life is always worth living for Him.

So all in all, what I want to say is this:

We’re all part of a terrible and awful cycle in this sinful world. I’m part of it too, and guilty of doing things to hurt other people. But still, I cry out to you: stop contributing to things like this! My word, the number of high school conversations – and sometimes college conversations – I overhear, and think, “How is it ever okay to speak to another person like that?” STOP saying anything that isn’t kind. Don’t be fake, but don’t be mean. Don’t spread rumors! Don’t ruin people’s reputations. Be genuine, be kind; let yourself be the smart one or the pretty one or the sweet one or all three! Tell others they’re beautiful and worth the fight.

And if you’re being bullied, if what you’re experiencing is even as small as that first conversation I related to you, it’s still worth paying attention to. It’s still worth telling someone you trust about, and asking them for their input. It’s better to choose friends wisely now than to wish you didn’t know someone later.

If it’s as big as being assaulted or told you’re better off not existing – my goodness, how my heart breaks for you! Don’t remain silent as I did for so long. Tell someone, and tell them now.

You are NOT what people say you are. You’re what GOD says you are. You’re made in His image. You are worth loving. In fact, you’re so worth loving that He died so that He could be with you for all eternity.