Pick A Part That's You

2nd June 2003

A lot of the interviews I have done have focused on one specific question. The question is ‘what was the worst thing about being bullied? What was the worst thing that ever happened to you?’ It’s as if people are dying to hear painful stories of victims like me having their heads flushed down toilets, being cut and bruised from punches, being humiliated. But I have to tell you, the worst thing that happened to me, the worst thing about being bullied was not the time I was beaten up, it wasn’t the time I was dragged away every lunchtime to be victimised by a bully and his gang. The worst thing was the feelings of shame, knowing that I should do something about it, knowing that I should defend myself, speak up for myself. The worst thing was knowing this but feeling helpless and unable to do what I felt I should be able to.

Punches, kicks, threats of violence, insults and humiliations are only temporary things. As individual incidents they don’t last long. It’s the aftermath of each bullying incident that is the most damaging. The bully’s actions pale in comparison to the damage we can do to ourselves when we look back on each incident. The worst thing about bullied for me was the build up of anger that their actions produced. This anger was bottled up and stored away, never released at the people who were attacking me. With no way out of my body the anger had to go somewhere so it got turned inwards. I started to bully myself, I knew i should do something about the problem; I knew that and the knowledge made it more painful.

I Lost Myself:

And everytime I was attacked it caught me cold, I froze with fear, it was the rabbit caught in the headlights scenario. I felt no anger. Each time I just tried to get away or ignore it. It was only after they’d gone that the anger flooded in, the words I couldn’t think of, the witty response, the expletive loaded challenge to fight, the violent visualisations. It all came pouring out straight after each incident, as soon as I’d got away. I’d see every situation again in my head, picturing what I should have done, feeling the anger and the violent emotions. Once that was done the self-bullying would start and I’d remind myself that I should have done this, should have done that. ‘Why can’t you just stand up for yourself? Well come on why can’t you?’ my inner voice would demand. The answer is that I didn’t have the tools, i didn’t have the belief that it would work and I was losing what confidence I did have with every incident. My own mind was working against me.

Maybe Shakespeare Had A Point:

As a victim I was playing a role, I was acting in a very bad and very damaging play. I was playing the part the bully wanted me to play. The part they’d written for me had no lines, no actions. It just required me to stand there and take whatever abuse they threw my way. And I learned the part so well it became me, I lost sight of the confident boy I had been, I became the victim, i lost my way. I found the role so emotionally draining that I withdrew from my friends and peers, I became very shy and fearful, well I would wouldn’t I? My part had no lines. I froze with fear with every attack, no surprise there, it’s what the bully had written in his script. And the stage directions/ I hated them, all they said was ‘Rob takes the abuse, and walks away to struggle with the overwhelming anger and shame.’ I played the part of the victim so well I should’ve got a BAFTA. Maybe Shakespeare in his wisdom was right; all the word is a stage. So I changed, beyond recognition, I became someone else.

So how did I manage to get out of it?

I Quit The Play And Decided To Play Another Role. I saw in my mind’s eye the part I wanted to play; I wanted to be me again. The real me, the one I’d lost sight of years ago. I started facing my fears, I started to write my own play, with lines in it too-I started to talk in public, I forced myself to find my voice again, I started to open up to people again. The play I wrote had me pushing myself again and again into situations that scared me, that made my voice wobble with nerves that made my limbs shake with adrenaline. My play kept growing act, after act. My play had scenes set in boxing rings, on Olympic wrestling mats, in call centres and offices, at University, in nightclubs and pubs re-learning my social skills, in schools, the centre of attention at the front of the class talking about my experiences.

It had scenes set in a comfy chair with the silent, ready to listen counsellor. Lately it’s had me in TV studios, bookstores, radio shows, newspaper offices, seminars and conferences. The part I’m playing now is me again, only now I’m more confident than I ever was before. The other role I used to play, the role of the victim was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through but it taught me so much. It deepened my understanding of life, of other people, of myself. The shame, the negative thoughts, and the debilitating anger that came with my last part has all gone. Whatever I do I’ll never play that part again and nothing will ever be that hard. So whatever my play has in store, the only certainty is that I will die at the end (and maybe pay some taxes along the way!) But whatever else this play has in store I now know I’ve got the tools to cope with it. Now I can play any role I want.