Damn right it gets better (but not for bullies)

This month is chock full of anti-bullying initiatives.  We have International Stand up to bullying day (November 19), Bullying Awareness Week ( November 14-20)  and Anti-Bullying Week (November 15-19). There are no doubt countless others.

It took a pretty high adolescent body count to finally get the issue taken seriously.

I was constantly bullied from grade school until about grade 10 (I can hear the collective gasp of disbelief ). I was a smidge overweight. I listened to the Beatles instead of Bon Jovi. I occasionally did and said odd or smart-ass things.  Nothing that ever hurt anyone, but for some reason a number of kids felt they had the right, nay the duty, to hurt me. And some adults agreed with them.  I was told to ignore them. I was told that I brought the torture on myself because I was so different and refused to hide it, that those poor bullies had no choice but to make my life hell.

I thought about killing myself almost every day.

It’s tempting to use this blog as a platform to scream for bully blood and demand that schools round the little fuckers up and throw them into a pit full of giant flesh-eating lizards. But in the years since graduation, I’ve learned a few things about these mini tyrants.

A little distance and a lot of therapy helped me figure bullying out. Much of their strength lay in numbers, which is why they tended to roam in little gangs (or cliques). How those who weren’t targeted stood by and watched in silence because they didn’t want to become targets themselves, not because they hated me.

I’ve also figured out those bullies were no better than me or any of the kids they picked on, and behind their smug hostility they knew it.

It’s likely their parents treated them like shit, and as no one was protecting them, they took it out on those they perceived as “weaker.” They were often ugly and dumb. Those who weren’t, like the elite Mean Girls, had their own insecurities. They were terrified that the slightest disturbance in the school caste system would threaten their status (and their spot at the cool cafeteria table) and had to keep us peasants downtrodden by any means necessary.

A U.S. study from 2003 found that bullies are seven times more likely than other students to carry weapons to school. Another found that children who bullied in grade 6 to 9 are six times more likely to have a criminal record by the age of 24. As adults, children who bully may display harassment in the workplace or may commit spousal, child, or senior abuse. Clearly, the problem does not magically end after graduation.

And if the internet had existed in my school days, damn straight it would have been utilized by the nasty kids. Those with the cranial capacity to turn on a computer, anyway.

But the internet is also full of resources for kids thinking death may be the only relief from the agony of school. Bullying is  a criminal offense, kids are finally learning.

http://www.torontopolice.on.ca/crimeprevention/bullying.php

They don’t have to take this shit.

I deal with the long-term effects of bullying to this very day. When you’re told you’re garbage nearly every day for years, eventually you believe it. Like I said before, I thought about killing myself constantly. But I got through my time in hell with the aid of a very strong imagination.

I often fantasized that one day I would win an Academy Award and I would use my acceptance speech time to “out” my former tormentors, knowing my legions of fans would mock and shun them and leave flaming bags of dog shit on their door steps. Those who weren’t in prison that is. Thanks largely to them repeatedly telling me how fat and ugly I was, I didn’t have the ego to pursue acting when I was young. I did take it up recently though (very casual and part-time) and now have two IMDB credits. If I ever get an award for anything, I won’t be mentioning my bullies.

I’ve forgotten most of their names.

I admit, I looked a few of them up on Facebook a couple of years ago out of morbid curiosity. I’m pleased to boast I look better than every single one of them. And their bios were bland and often contained blatant spelling errors. They also tend to live in the same bland suburb they were hatched in or worse.

My life is not what you’d call normal because I am not normal, as those bullies loved to point out.  But unlike in my school days, I see this as a good thing.  My literary stardom is imminent. I live in a great city in a nice place with two gorgeous and lovable cats. People pay me money to take my picture (not so fat and ugly anymore). I have purpose (being active in animal rights) and REAL friends who like me because of the quirks I was once shunned for. I’m alive, in every sense of the word.

I triumphed. Bully for them!

Black is Beautiful: by our very special guest writer, Maggie Muffincakes

Hello readers! My name is Maggie. You may recognize me as the gorgeous kitty from my mummy’s Facebook pic, but just in case, this is me:

Since Mummy is feeling poorly I have decided to take the initiative and write this week’s Sand vs. Machinery for her. Aren’t I sweet?

You may have noticed (if you weren’t too distracted by my bright eyes and the fact that I can type and access the internet) that I am a black kitty . Mummy sometimes refers to me as her sweet little blackberry muffin, along with the dozens of other cute nicknames she has for me.

I was a very tiny kitten when I turned up on Mummy’s sister’s boyfriend’s doorstep. Auntie Missy told Mummy about me and a short while later I went to live with her. She loved me instantly, of course. And she made sure I had the best quality cat food, plenty of clean water and lots of toys and snuggles.

I was a saucy kitten, sticking my tongue out

I don’t remember how a helpless (yet plucky) wee kitten like myself ended up in the street all alone, forced to cry outside a strange door to be let in out of the cold. But I once overheard my daddy say it may have been because of my hair colour, a fact which baffles me and breaks my mummy’s heart.

She says the day she brought me home was one of the luckiest days of her life,  but black cats have long been considered unlucky or even evil omens in certain cultures. Some say that if a black cat crosses your path on a journey, the only safe thing to do is to turn around and go home. Old European folklore says that we were shape shifters in league with someone called Satan. We’re also said to be the top choice of witches as familiars, which confuses me because mummy says witches aren’t evil.

Historically, lots of black cats have been killed by humans in the name of this Satan or other kinds of dark magic. I won’t go into detail because you might cry.

Not long after Mummy took me in, I was roaming the hallway outside my first apartment when a neighbour came out of the elevator. I liked meeting new people  so I went up to her to say hello and she backed away from me like I was some kind of monster. And she said to Mummy, who was keeping an eye on me, that she was “freaked out” by black cats. Mummy frowned and snapped “bloody hell, she weighs all of three pounds and you’re scared of her?”  She then swooped me up and took me inside for a treat but I could tell she was upset by the neighbour lady’s ignorance.

Even though most people are no longer silly enough to believe in such superstitions, the sad reality is there is still a prejudice against cats like me. Animal shelters have a harder time adopting out black cats than any other colour.

Fortunately, some nice people are trying to change that. There are lots of lovely black cats waiting for good homes, some are almost as exquisite as me:

A lot of shelters won’t adopt out black cats too close to Halloween for fear that we’ll be hurt or killed in rituals by mean people, but Halloween is over so if you’re thinking of bringing a cat into your home, remember: black is beautiful. Black cats are often very shiny and soft, and we have an aura of mystery about us. Also our hair color tends to make our eyes “pop.”

Some old-timey funny man named Groucho Marx once said, “A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.” If only we could all be so sensible.

The time has come for you humans to get past this prejudice and worship embrace all kitties for the wonderful, superior beings we are.

About the Author: Maggie Muffincakes has spent a good deal of her ten years on this planet sitting on her mummy’s lap, watching her type away at her computer, whether she was writing this very blog, working on her yet-to-be-sold novel or making very important points about Harry Potter in chat rooms.  But Mummy had no idea how closely her darling kitty-cat was paying attention.

In her spare time Maggie enjoys napping, being petted and admired and the occasional bit of catnip. She lives in Toronto with Mummy and her little brother Pip.