I'll never forget the first time I was bullied. I had always been a bit of a loner. I wasn't interested in whatever the other girls were into so I hung out with the boys. We would play street hockey, jump on the trampoline, and skateboard around the cul-de-sac for hours. I had even started a zine with one of my guy friends. It was a pretty sweet setup I had for a while, until we all got to the age at which girls and boys start becoming "interested" in each other. Swiftly, my sweet little world fell apart.
I was sitting in the hallway with one of my buds when a girl, who probably had some sort of crush on him, spilled a water bottle on my crotch area and told everybody I peed my pants. I was in fifth grade. Looking back, it's kind of hilarious, but in the moment, it was horrifying. I was somewhat friendly with this girl and felt betrayed. I was shocked, heartbroken, and confused. I was inconsolable for the better part of the afternoon and can remember hiding out in the library with my lucky rabbit's foot and a copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends. That was the day I asked my parents to homeschool me for the first time. I got through it by telling myself that the feeling wouldn't be forever. That I couldn't wait to get older so I wouldn't have to feel this way anymore. Fast forward about fifteen years. Not much as changed.