Recently, as a part of my Senior Humanities project, I wrote an original play portraying what it feels like for the average kid who is bullied either on a daily basis, or to the point where he breaks and loses all rational thought. Yes, this is somewhat common among children. I have read that at least 14 percent of kids end up committing suicide because they cannot handle the animosity that comes with their bullies. Think about that for a moment. I was shocked when I read that statistic as well.
The play itself wasn’t a total burden to write, but I just felt exhausted at one point. Saying that I didn’t want to write it anymore, seeing as how it sucked almost all of my positive energy out of me. But, obviously, I didn’t let this get to me as I continued to write it. Most insults that I used for one character, I found online. And they were all incredibly hurtful. Reading them to myself before I placed them into the character’s dialogue made me sick. What was worse?
Studies show that 58 percent of bullying happens out of revenge, or the bully thinks that the victim deserves it. That made me lose a bit of sanity inside of myself, as I ranted for at least a half hour about how angry it made me. Who deserves the animosity that comes with some people? The vicious hatred? No one. But, apparently, in this world, people think that others need to be bullied. And you know what? It made me reflect as well. I was bullied before, and I never chose to do anything about it.
Yes. I have been in this sort of position. Not to where I would want to commit suicide . . . Not even close. But, to where I didn’t want to go to school? To where I hated looking at myself? Yes. Last year was the worst for me. Because I was different (and had a pretty cool low voice), people called me all types of things. Each of them made my self esteem crumble down. But then, I realized . . . What do their petty words matter to me? Absolutely nothing.
It’s a horrible experience, and I commend you if you’re staying rather strong through it. No one wants to be bullied, but people think that you might deserve it.
Why did I call this a play from the heart? Well, like I said, I’ve been bullied. So, in a way, I can connect with the character in my play. Again, nowhere near committing suicide, but hating myself day after day. So, do me a favor before you bully somebody . . . Think about how much your words could really hurt someone else.
Sticks and Stones? That’s a lie. Words are etched in forever.