My Bubble Is Mine, Not Yours

My bubble is not yours,

it's my private area.

You're not permitted

to enter my bubble

without seeking permission first.

Like knocking before you

enter my bedroom,

you ask before

entering my personal bubble.

Like asking before

entering someones home,

you ask before touching me.

My bubble is not yours,

it's my own place

to hibernate in.

If I say, "don't come in",

you exit my bubble

immediately.

In the summer of 2010, I was bullied and mistreated. I was a part of an all-girls sports program at a Jewish day camp in Toronto. There happened to be a girl with severe-enough behavioural health issues in the same summer camp program as me. We were good friends however, our friendship didn't last as long as I expected. A week later, she and I were foes. At the start of the second week, she and I got into a physical altercation in which she and I beat each other up on the field. After the physical dispute, she told me that I would have no friends and then continued harassing and picking on me for the next three weeks of the July session. It took a few girls in my cabin to stick up for me, which lead to meaningful friendships with them for the rest of the summer. It was inexorable and impossible for me to "simply ignore her", no matter how many times the counsellors would tell me to not pay attention to her. It's hard to ignore someone who's constantly picking on you, especially after telling them to stop. She would follow me around and make horrible comments to me. I couldn't even vocalize how painful it was for me to endure that every day at camp. My parents knew, because I always informed them. Later on, the camp knew about it and finally she was gone for good! She didn't return for the August session and I was finally happy as a pig in poo!

Things became more positive once I began junior high school in the fall of 2010. I started the next chapter of my life abuse-free, thanks to attending a fantastic school with amazing teachers and accepting students.

During my freshman year of high school, I became a victim of cyberbullying. This guy from overnight camp added me on Facebook, and I accepted it. I didn't know that he would become sexual towards me, and assumed that we were just friends. He once asked me to go on webcam, he asked me personal questions about my body and he commanded me to show him my body. After that incident, I blocked him immediately. More and more older guys started adding me on Facebook and continued to "do the same tricks" with me. One random man in his 30's would constantly text me and would coax me to go on webcam with him and discuss things that I didn't like talking to strangers about. It began to make me uncomfortable, so I blocked him. Since those two incidents I've had on Facebook during my freshman year, I've been guarded around men ages 24 and older.

In high school, even worse things happened to me. Grade 9 was when the bullying happened. A couple of girls who were in the same Civics and Career class as me would bully me and give me dirty looks. They would say the most hurtful things to me and would blame me for doing the exact same things as they did. The bullying sadly continued in Grade 10. This group of "gangster girls" would constantly approach me and mistreat me. It started when this girl constantly asked me to attend her sleepover party. The third time she asked me, I politely declined the invitation to her sleepover and asked me why I wouldn't attend. Knowing that I needed to hop on the school bus to get home, I walked away. It wasn't until two minutes after I removed myself when her friend chased me, yelled at me and asked me why I don't like her. After that day, the bullying was unstoppable. I would go to the washroom and the girls happened to be there every time I was there. They would bang on my door and ask me if I was defecating, throw wet toilet paper in my face and demand me to attend their sleepover party. One of the girls in the "clique" was in the same art class at me. She and I would constantly fight and yell at each other. The last time she bullied me was in the washroom, when she threw wet toilet paper at me and laughed. My mom, the principal, my dad and my stepmom knew about it, and I couldn't stop crying for the last two days. Thanks to my fantastic mom, she got the girl expelled from my high school.

Sadly, the bullying didn't stop after that girl was expelled. I was in the washroom when these girls banged on the door and asked me if I was defecating. I didn't know who the girl was, so I asked what her name was. She just told me that I should figure out her name since I knew her and then attempted to take a picture of me in the stalls. When I raised my voice and told her to "go away", she stopped, laughed at me and exited the girls washroom. I took myself to the principals office immediately, to report the incident. A couple of my special education teachers met me in the office and comforted me as I was very close to bursting into tears. Two weeks later, the child and youth worker told me that the girls regretted it deeply and that she would arrange for them to apologize to me. It didn't end up happening for whatever reason. For the remainder of my high school career, a group of low-income students would spew ableist insults, touch me inappropriately, take advantage of me and mesh into my business. That resulted in a couple of physical and verbal fights I got into with a couple of the female bullies. I also had social issues with a few of my friends, which also resulted in constant arguing, fighting and offending each other. It took a toll on my mental health and self-confidence later on. Once I left high school, I was happy to know that I wouldn't encounter such people in college.

College was a much better fit for me. I enjoyed many of my classes and I made tons of friends. All the students were accepting of both my disability and the way I learned. I was never criticized in college and I felt comfortable talking to my professors about anything. Although I still felt lots of resentment towards some of the kids and some lingering affects of the bullying I endured, my life was getting much better. I still had tons to recover from however, I felt happier and more satisfied with my life. I felt more accepted by other neurotypical people. I gradually became more and more guarded towards men and aware of social media etiquette.

Thanks to the Reena Foundation (a special needs organization in the Greater Toronto Area of Canada), my life is getting better every day. I'm constantly healing and learning along the way. I feel more confident and content. If it wasn't for the Reena Foundation, I don't know what I would do.

Nobody lives a perfect life. We all deal with tough situations at some point in our lives. We all have ups and downs, they're just different for different people. People also don't always share the hardships they went through, but it doesn't mean that one lives a better life than the other. We just need to acknowledge that all lives matter and not compare our lives to others.

Thank you for reading my poem and story about bullying. My hope was to inspire and give comfort to those who've been bullied, or is currently a victim of bullying. If you found this story inspirational, please give it a 💕, share it with others who may be interested and don't hesitate to send me a tip to show your support. Stay tuned and visit my public profile for more upcoming stories, poems and articles. Feel free to connect with me on Instagram. Have a great week! You all matter!

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