Tag Archives: bullying

Three Finger Alien

My first memory of Darienne was the shrill tone of her voice quickly approaching me from behind. A second later the cold plastic floor was below me and she sat on my chest. Her three-fingered hands were hovering right above my face. I was terrified; she had a grin on her lips.

“Now you have to join me on my home planet.”

I was five and a half back then and Darienne was nearly six. And from that day on we were best friends. She invited many others to her home planet, but for some reason scaring the others wasn’t as fun as scaring me. Even when I saw and felt them every day, her three-fingered hands still terrified me. Darienne enjoyed her scariness on a daily basis; her cold fingers wandered under my shirt or suddenly appeared at the edge of tables or grabbed my arm or leg or neck.

But while her fingers brought her fun with me they brought her pain with everyone else. Nobody wanted to befriend the “alien.” In kindergarten that was the name she proudly gave herself, in school it became an insult and curse. Continue reading

One week ago I lost the only person I ever loved

There are two golden threads running through my life. The first is that I was always the unluckiest person I knew. The second is that everybody always hated me.

It started even before I was born. My mom said my father beat her when he heard she was pregnant. Then he left.

When I was a toddler other parents refused to let their children have play dates with me. Mom said they always cried when they were brought to our house or when mom or I came there. They always cried, every single other toddler, without exception.

My only memories of preschool are of me playing alone in a corner of the colorful room. I was the outcast. The others avoided me. They hated the food I brought to school; they hated the way I was dressed; they hated the way I played games. If you ever thought that there is no bullying in preschool – there is. And even the other mothers avoided me. They cuddled each other’s children, picked them up, cuddled them, played with them – but not me. Never me. Continue reading

The Dark Red of the Night

“I can’t relax,” she said.

“That’s why I would like to prescribe you something.”

Nateal shook her head.

“It is absolutely safe,” I said.

She shook her head again.

“For how long haven’t you slept?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“For how long?”

“Three days,” Nateal said. “A bit more than three days.” Continue reading