My junior high heartache.

READERS, looking back at this time is hard, but healing.  I am writing this not for anyone to feel bad, for not being there, or even the bullying.  At times I wasn't a nice person myself, too.
This,  its truly my story of my past, and today gives me strength of how far I have come.
I  have always looked for love on the outside, to fill me up within.  This is another lesson life gave me on finding my love first inside,  for me.
 I am writing this for the one who cries themselves to sleep at night, for the one who is being teased, or who feels alone.  And this is what I say to them. "sweetheart, this is big, you are not alone, you are strong" 
I am the first to say, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger.  And truthfully, they knew something I didn't know about me because I do love water, and I have a great inner peace when I am around it.
Lets all try to be kinder, nicer, more loving.  Please feel free to SHARE my words, my blog with anyone who you feel called to. And, if there is one person out there that needed to hear my words, my story, to know they are not alone well then-
 I did my job.

Till next time,
-the girl who is learning to run with dresses on, Michelle


In 7th grade I was bullied, my name was Shamoo..... the whale.

I was new to the school, having only  lived in the new northern upper peninsula town for less than a year, and I was trying to find my way.

I still remember sitting in environmental science class, with my red stretch pants and white guess sweatshirt, watching a movie on amphibians. There was a whale, it was huge, and people thought we looked alike.

I don't remember who came up with the whole whale nickname part, I just remember hearing it-everywhere I went.  There was a certain way they would say it, powerful, loud, cutting, to my heart.

I would hear it everywhere, snickers, whispers from behind me in class.  Then, between classes in the hallway loud, shouting "SHAMOO, go back to the ocean!" 

At times, I would purposely get tripped climbing the many of stairs in the school.  There comments would be, "quit walking shamoo, start by swimming back in the ocean- you big whale".

I felt like it was the whole grade teasing me, bullying me.  Looking back it wasn't.  There were a few of them, that never said anything, they would just look at me with the "I'm sorry" eyes.

Truthfully, I thought it was my fault. I wasn't being nice enough.  I thought that I needed to try better at meeting new friends in this foreign town.

So I tried harder.  I remember Valentines day saving my money to buy them all individual cards with candies.  You see I thought I could buy there acceptance.  I found out at the end of the day when the valentines ended up torn to shreds in my locker, that that wasn't so.

My locker was also the place where they would post pictures of whales.  Many a day, I would come in and find yet another picture taped to my locker of "Shamoo".

Looking back, I was big. Like I said in previous posts, I have been big my whole life. 
Back then, I just didn't have a big voice.

I would quietly whisper my bullying to the lunch lady during recess.  You see, she was safe, I didn't even think about going to hang out where the rest of the class was.  As she was selling her chips and candy to the kids, she would gently hug me, and whisper encouraging words back, reassuring me she was always there to talk to. 
(Thankyou, Judy, I love you)

I remember faking sick, often.  Knowing, I didn't have it in me to hear another word, or fight another day.  It was true my belly hurt, just not in a contagious way.

 Then when my mom caught on, I finally confessed and told her the stories of Shamoo the whale.  You see, I didn't want to.  I wanted to pretend to her that my new school was okay, the people who she told me to hang out with, were nice.  And, I  was worried at that point that, it wasn't a big deal and was just being a tattle tale.

So, the ring leaders parents were called.  I begged, pleaded, with my mom not to call her parents, but she felt like it would get better if parents were involved. (I understand now as  a parent) A few minutes later the mom and ring leader showed up.  The girl apologized, in a heartfelt way, and I went to bed that night with hope for brighter 7th grade days ahead.

It got worse. 

I was known as the tattle tale, the baby, and the whale. 

I started hanging out with a different older crew.  I started smoking on my lunch breaks. I would pretend not to hear them, like a tough shell covered me.  When I  was getting pushed, and poked, getting hollered at SHAMOO, I pretended not to hear, listen, or feel.

But, at night, under my covers alone, I would cry. I would scream for my voice, for love.  I would hate myself, for not giving  a damn, for not sticking up for me.  And as I would lay there, I would contemplate, dying.  I would wonder how many ibuprofren pills I would need to swallow, before my body would shut down.  I would pray for death. 

I cant say to this day when the bullying died down.  I just know I survived.  The love from the sweetheart lunch lady Judy helped.  I also had a dear friend (from the hometown we moved from) that would send me tapes of her voice, giving me strength.  It seems now, when I pretended not to care, not to show any emotion, it got better, the bullying got to be less.  I was also glad to see summer vacation that year.


In 8th grade, I was numb- but not Shamoo.