I was bullied when I was a kid. Mercilessly, unceasingly, and every fucking day since grade school. I had no friends, and I dreaded getting up each morning. I was called everything in the book. ”Chink”, “Jap”, “Minnesota Fats”, and a whole slew of other insults. I was told to go back to my country, and kids on the playground did that “Chinese, Japanese, dirty knees*” thing while pulling up the corners of their eyes. I was physically harassed from time to time as well. The one time I stood up for another Asian kid on the bus, his tormentor, a white girl, spit on me.
When I was a teenager, adults would tell me that these were the best days of my life and how they wished they could be young again. My silent response was always, “If these are the best days of my life, I might as well kill myself.” From the time I was eleven until fairly recently, I wanted to kill myself every day of my life.
In high school, I didn’t belong to any group. I wasn’t a jock or a cheerleader or a druggie or even a nerd. I was a nobody. There was a girl who teased me every day in science class (either chemistry or physics. I don’t remember which class, but I still remember her name), and one day I snapped. I grabbed her by her hair, pulled her head back, and told her in a very quiet voice that I would kill her if she ever bothered me again. She never did, but there was no happy ending to that story as others continued to pick on me.
(click for more childhood reminiscing)