London walked into her house, and greeted her mom bluntly before setting her bag down. Her mother, not skipping a beat, asked her, “What’s wrong?”  London turned towards her mother and explained how some kids had told her she was being really loud at school… again.

London wasn’t a naturally quiet person; she was usually a happy, outgoing person, but when someone hurt her feelings she became the complete opposite. She was one of those kids that spoke, no matter where she was. For example, London would need to be moved and the teacher would make a comment about how it was “impossible to have her sit anywhere because she couldn’t stop communicating with her neighbors.”

All people are different, but there’s always a certain insult that gets to someone more than any other would. For London, it was being told she’s “too loud,” talks too much, is annoying, etc. Growing up, she talked a lot, adults told her both that she was too loud, and chatted too much. She talked a lot in class and often got told off for doing so.

One day, in first grade, a parent of London’s friend said something to the effect of, “You really like talking, don’t you?” Those words were like a slap across the face to London because it was the first time someone’s words had ever genuinely hurt her feelings. She soon realized that lots of people that knew her said such things about her.

As London grew older and wiser, she attempted to limit when she talked and how much. In third grade, her teacher noticed that she had a slight lisp when pronouncing her “s’s.” London already had very little knowledge of this because a girl had asked her why she “talked with her tongue.” When London’s third-grade teacher had told her parents about the lisp, they asked London if she wanted to change it, but she simply decided to brush it off.

A year later, it was that certain time where a kid and their parents go in and talk to the teacher to get that special report on their behavior and grades. London was always a good student, so her parents never worried about her grades or behavior. This year was a little different though, this was the first time a teacher told London’s parents that she needed to speak up a little bit more in class. London would know the answers to questions asked, but instead of raising her hand, she would choose to keep quiet. She was proud of herself for finally being a quieter kid.

Another year passed, and London was now found in the “bigger kid” part of the elementary school, but she never felt like a “big” kid. There was one day where the speech teacher was sitting in the back of the class to pay attention to one of London’s other classmates. In the back of London’s mind, she knew it would come up again.

“London, I noticed that you don’t completely pronounce your s’s right. Would you like to join speech to try to fix it?” The teacher asked politely.

London chose to do speech; she did it for the two upcoming years.

Sixth grade came along, and London had gotten even quieter during class, but around her own friends, she could still be a bit much. That was the weird thing about London, she was extremely quiet during class, but she always returned to her stentorian ways when she was around her friends. Her teacher told her parents whenever she saw them, that London needed to speak more in class because she never participated, maybe once or twice a day if she was lucky.

There was one day where she felt as though she couldn’t take it anymore. Now, London was a young girl and she was only in sixth grade, but there was a lot of drama that her friends somehow got involved in and London would often get into verbal fights with them. London’s best friend, Mercedes, was loved by all their friends. London didn’t feel like she -herself-  was, they seemed to get more annoyed with her, fight with her more, and lie. They all started to develop a problem with how close Mercedes and London were. All of this started to take its toll on London, and there came a night where she cut herself.

Now, the cut was not like you would stereotypically think, it was done with scissors and it was between her fingers, not across her wrist. London told her closest friends at the time, and one of them told her mom. London didn’t do it again for a long time.

Fast forward another year and you get a nervous, twelve-year-old London in seventh grade. She engaged in her classes a tiny bit more, but still not to her teachers’ standards. Most of her teachers told her parents that she was too quiet for their liking. One of London’s harder classes had lots of homework and she felt as though she was the only person who didn’t fully understand what they were learning, yet she wouldn’t ask the teacher for help. She had started that habit two years prior, but not purposely.

One year later, and we find London as a self-conscious eighth grader. London has had a mishap in her “no cutting” schedule because her advanced class has her stressed out as well as a few select people. A promise to never do it again was put into place.

There was one day, though, where everything came crashing down on her. Everything seemed to be getting to her, no matter how big of a deal it was. It seemed as though that every time she did anything, she would get yelled at for it. Her friends had called her annoying and useless, others were calling her loud and a chatterbox.
“I swear I couldn’t hear a thing when she was done talking, it was so loud!”

“She talks way too much, she cut me off and pretended that she was the victim.”

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what to say. I already cried enough today. I think this was the first time I’ve ever cried at school, although no one really cared. They told me I’d be fine. Mercedes was gone; I feel like she’d get fed up with me if I tell her how I feel anyway. I know my mom is trying to be helpful, but every time I tell her how my voice volume was at school, she says the same thing every time. “At least you’re aware of it, and you’re the only one who can change it.” I hate everything sometimes. I swear no one understands how I feel about anything. Anytime I ask someone if they believe that I need to change, it’s the same response. My brain doesn’t work the same as theirs, I think they lie to me about it. They say the opposite of what I anticipate. I probably appear as an overdramatic freak to everyone. I wish different things sometimes. Sometimes I wish I was dead, others I wish I never existed at all. I sound so dramatic right now and it’s absolutely pathetic. This is why I hate myself.

Three years later, London was sitting next to her best friend, Mercedes. London was anxiously waiting to be called into her therapist’s office. She’s lost count how many times she’s been there, but it always feels the same when she’s getting ready to enter the office.

London fidgeted with her rings on one hand and squeezed Mercedes’s hand with the other. Mercedes squeezed back in an attempt at reassurance as London’s name was called.

About a year after London’s diary entry, she was taken to a mental hospital to get serious help. An attempt at suicide landed her in a mental hospital for about six months, partly because she would somehow find a way to cut herself in the hospital. London has cleaned up a little bit but was diagnosed with severe depression, hence the therapist visits. Gradually, London is learning to accept herself whether or not she likes it. She realizes she has flaws, but she must look past them to be happy in herself; she knows that now. Mercedes, as well as London’s family, has stuck with her throughout the journey and loves her no matter what.

Therapy has made London discern the actuality of the toll that bullying takes on a person’s well-being, and character. No matter the insult, and no matter the insults spat at someone, the bullied are still human and they still feel. No one truly knows what goes on behind closed doors, and bullying will always be more than what it’s made out to be.

“Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” -John Lennon