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I relate to you so much! When I was in 6th grade I was labeled the school “slut”. I was labeled this because I liked a boy who was in 8th grade and we started texting and I didn’t know know any better. I sent him nudes. I didn’t know he would show everyone. A month after that we stopped talking and people started laughing at me while I’d walk by or whenever I’d enter the cafeteria. All my girlfriends stopped talking to me. I was alone. People would yell things in the halls and classrooms. Thank you so much for making this project because now I know I’m not alone. -- Angie in Boston, MA
It started my first year of middle school. I dressed differently than others and I had different interests. People branded me as "emo" and "goth". After that started, people would make fun of me, ask to see my cuts (I wasn't even cutting), told me I was a psycho. It was annoying and aggravating. I was sent to the counselor to 'talk about my problems' because people would say I was suicidal. If it wasn't the counselor it was the principal. I got called to the office once because someone said they saw me with a blade (I didn't have one) and my principal didn't believe me. He let me go though, saying if I got caught with one it'd be considered a weapon. Things lasted all year, then I got a boyfriend. Things dialed down a little bit after that. He later told me he only got with me to see if he could change that way I was, he failed to do so and broke up with me. That summer my parents found a page I had made on suicide and self harm. That was a long talk, then they saw it on my wrist. I said it was the dog and they believed me. Told me that they could send me to a hospital to get help. I didn't wanna go, I answered no to all of their questions. The next year, I started losing everyone. My best friend had a new group of best friends, I felt secluded from my volleyball team (I play a lot of sports at school), my parents started living separately again, I felt alone. I've never been good at telling people my feelings. So, I didn't like to tell my parents what was going on. That same year I would still get called the labels, but they just kept seeming to add up. They'd call me a slut, whore, bitch, asshole, basically every name you can think of. People would carve mean things in the bathroom stalls like "[my name] is a emo fag that should die," "[my name] is a asshole," "[my name] should just kill herself." I would hate it so much. I didn't know what to do, so I reported it cause it was so much, they told my parents. It seemed to never end. After that people would pass rumors about me and guys at school would try to touch me. I gave up on reporting any of it cause it didn't stop anyone. It was here, in middle school when I started self harm and planned an attempt. I felt so lost with no idea what to do. School staff didn't do much, I was always in the counselor office cause people kept saying I was crazy and suicidal. They never found out about my scars or cuts, I hid them or lied. My new friend talked me out of all my bad thoughts. This year I'm in eighth grade. Nothing has changed. I still have the labels and names, and school just barely started a month ago. They never got my name off the bathroom door. I still do what I do even though I shouldn't. I keep everything hidden, I'm my own secret. People need to know, their words can hurt someone. Maybe they don't realize it, but they do. Not everyone survives, not everyone finds a cure. Do not let people label you, you are not defined by what people think you are. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please visit Door of Hope 4 Teens and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, but I learned to not care.10/28/2019
It all started in middle school. 6 years ago I'll never forget. I was an antisocial nerd that just enjoyed video games and wrestling. I wasn't even sexually active. I only had one boyfriend but that relationship wasn't even serious. I was 13. I was in 7th grade. My story is probably one of the worst, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. So let's start off, shall we? I was bullied in the beginning of my 7th grade year for something completely unrelated to sex. I was bullied in my class because I was different. My uniform was nicely pressed and not trendy like the girls around me. They teased me because of how wide my pant legs were. They said I looked cheap. I was so depressed, everyday I had to brace myself for some more foolishness. Then another girl joined their little group. She went right along with them and she didn't even know me! Why am I saying this you ask? Because those same people "slut" shamed me and got the whole class to do the same. There was a kid in my class named Bobby (not his real name). He was mischievous. He always got in trouble at school. He thought that he was cool. One day I was in class and I bent over to pick up a book. He was gyrating behind me and I had no knowledge of it. The whole class called me a slut because they thought that I wanted him to do it but I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT HE WAS DOING IT! So the girl that I talked about earlier in the story, Alexia, was the first to shout out "Hoe" and the rest of the class followed through. It was a ritual for them to tease me daily. I didn't seem bothered but I was. Then my reputation was so tarnished that in April of 2010, a boy forced me to perform oral sex on him. His name was Johnathan. I didn't want to do it so he grabbed my hair and forced me. I struggled. He was then unsuccessful and threatened to tell everyone that I did it just because I didn't want to. On that day my life changed forever. Everybody including my big brother called me a slut. I tried to kill myself twice. Why you may ask? Because I told the guidance counselor and the teachers and they took no action! That was sexual harassment and it happened on school grounds. I was still a virgin. I wasn't promiscuous. I had no one to turn to. I looked in the mirror and said to myself that I can make it through it all. I went to school everyday. Slut was basically stamped on my forehead. So I wrote 4 books. These books were over exaggerated stories of how slutty I was. I made up fake sexual experiences since people wanted to believe it. I said that I fucked this guy and he didn't even exist (joke's on whoever believed it). I was entertaining the rumors basically because they wouldn't believe me if I denied it. In 8th grade those rumors stopped. Almost everyone that bullied me no longer went to that school. It was like a new life. I dated my long time friend (we lasted 3 1/2 years). Life got better. Until high school... In my senior year I broke up with my boyfriend that I dated since 8th grade. It was my choice actually. So since I was single I wanted to mess around so I slept with a long time friend that went to my school. He lied to me and told me that I could've trusted him and he wouldn't expose my business to everyone so I had sex with him. He told all of my ex's friends including my ex. My got into a new relationship and his girlfriend was spreading these rumors too, but she kind of added more to it. She said that I slept with all of his friends but it was only that one guy. I got into a fight with her over the rumors and ever since then, they ceased but I learned to never be ashamed of being sexual. Yes I trusted the wrong person and I felt guilt when people found out, including my ex, but I learned to not care. I am me. I am not really promiscuous but I love sex. We as women shouldn't feel shame for wanting sex. I was even shamed before having sex! When I actually had sex I was in my mid teens (16, 17, 18) and it wasn't with a lot of people and even if it was, I still wouldn't feel shame. I don't feel guilty that I slept with him because it felt great. I just wish that I could've trusted him. Please don't kill yourself. Please don't feel ashamed! Sex is a part of nature and both sexes are welcome to engage in that activity! Unfortunately for me and where I live I couldn't freely fuck guys without being shamed. It's my vagina, I don't need permission from society to use it. I don't need permission from society about how many people I can use it with. As for my ex, I am not sure if he actually "slut" shamed me but he was disrespectful for even telling his new girlfriend about a lie and allowing her to shame me. He changed as a person. He was such a gentleman when we were dating. Now he's just a horrible person. Never allow your ex or anyone to shame you! - Lynn Joseph
Boys are expected to be "sexperts" from the start. Even if the boy and girl are both virgins, the boy is expected to magically know what he is doing. Many times I saw girls say a boy was bad in bed or had a small dick. This seemed as if it was meant to invalidate the sex as if it never happened. I'm specifically thinking of one girl in particular who did that multiple times in different social group, who, after seeing you speak on TV and having a think about it, I now think may have just been her avoiding being labeled a slut - i.e. How can I be a slut if I've never enjoyed any of it? Which seemed to work, looking back on it now. I know that one of the definitive reasons the boys "slut" shame is because they want all the girls to be virgins for the obvious reason. If a girl is a virgin, she has no experience to compare the boys' performance with, and thus is less likely to be critical (it's a giant emotional deal for boys). Even I felt more draw to girls with little sexual experience for that reason, while at the same time finding it counter productive that other boys would alienate the promiscuous girls, cause, they were the ones most likely to put out, which tends to be the aim of the game as a young teenage male (and teenage females from what I've been told since). As you were saying about girls "slut" shaming each other to draw attention away from themselves, I think the boys do the same to each other about performance and especially amount of experience. The boys call the girls sluts and the girls call the boys virgins. I just can't see how how sexually bullying against girls can be solved without equally tackling sexual bullying against boys as the two sides seem to feed into each other. If we could get rid of the stereotypes that girls are supposed to be chaste virgins and boys are supposed to be highly experienced sex gods, I think the bullying would just lose its reason and simply stop. I mean, if she is not ashamed to have sex, she has no reason to say "he's got a small dick", thus he has no reason to say "she is just loose", so her friends don't need to say... and so on all around the school. - Chris
Okay, firstly: I am British and the school system is different over here: it's in years, like year 1 is 5-6, year 2 is 6-7, etc. Secondly: I was a child who was taught to be herself and 'myself' was someone who told on everyone about everything. There were 3 girls in my year group when I was 9, one was kind of my friend and the other was a girl (call her Sadey) whose home wasn't the most stable. Back then I blamed her but the environment she was living in can't have helped. My friend left to go to a private (paying) school while I was left with Sadey who was my 'friend' one day then the next she was something else entirely. People started to dislike me for constantly telling on them (fair enough) but when I was around 10 or 11, Sadey began to push me away completely. She began to spread rumours that I sold sex. At 11. People believed her and she told them I murdered people and that I would stop at nothing to get the best grades, then she turned my friends against me by telling them I talked behind their backs. Around the same time all of them mysteriously 'weren't allowed to play with me'. They began to call me 'morbid skank' and 'killer slut'. I told my mum but as I was always telling on people, she didn't believe me. Within the last few weeks of primary school I couldn't take it anymore and I felt like I needed her to believe me so I began to cut. I felt so guilty afterwards that I wouldn't sleep and I'd black out in class. Not once did anyone question Sadey as the cause, she hasn't been confronted. I hope her family life is better now, I hope she hasn't done this to anyone else. It was no ones fault, just that I had been selfish in the past and when I needed help nobody believed me. Now I go to the private school where my friend went, I've lost a lot of empathy but that girl had such a hard time at home it can't be her fault. It shouldn't be an excuse, talk to someone only when it's important and don't force yourself to do something like I did to make them believe. - Izzy B.
When I was 13 and going into 8th grade, I was losing a lot of friends and felt lonely, like no one really cared about me/wanted to hear what I had to say. Thinking it was a great idea and like I had no other option, I started hooking up with a lot of guys. Older guys. Older guys who took advantage of me and convinced me to give them blowjobs, handjobs, etc. Over the next year, the number of guys continued to grow, but I made a lot of new friends and even established a stable group of best friends that meant (and still mean) the entire world to me. Now, I'm going into 9th grade. I've hooked up with 23 guys, and the amount of times I've hooked up with people has amounted to 42. Over time, where I live, I've been labeled one of the biggest sluts who is easy and disgusting. This "sick" and "disgusting" reputation has followed me around for the last year, and while I try to earn respect, it never stops. I still continue to hook up with guys. I even lost my virginity and had sex with 2 other guys after that. Now it's just become a normal thing for me, almost comforting, because hooking up with people makes me feel close to someone, cherished, even if it's just for an hour or less. My reputation continues to follow me, and by now, I've just embraced it. Hooking up has become a normal habit for me now.
What really horrifies me, as an an adult and as a parent myself now, is the adults in my story.10/28/2019
Middle school is hell. It’s strange to look back from an adult perspective. I’ve tried to explain those years and what they meant to me – what they did to me – to my husband, but I don’t think he really gets it. To be fair, any one thing I describe doesn’t sound that bad. But I remember the whole picture – a little too clearly. And what really horrifies me, as an adult and as a parent myself now, is the adults in my story. The kids in my story were just that, kids. They didn’t have fully developed personalities, and they didn’t act in a vacuum. Somewhere, some adults – mostly unseen by me – informed their behavior. And adults that I did see enabled it. I think I’ve always been a bit of a loner. My mom was always telling me to get my nose out of a book and socialize more. But I don’t remember feeling bullied or picked on until about 4th grade. That was a bad year all around. I was the new kid in a new school. That was the year I got glasses. That was the year I got chicken pox. That was the year that I started to develop. It was a bad combo, and I know that I was teased a lot. What I mainly remember was being called “chicken lady” for the remainder of the year after the chicken pox episode. 5th grade was another new school. That was, I think, the first year that I was aware of anything relating to sex. I had to wear a bra every day by then. I had hair on my legs, but I was too young to shave, so I was teased about that. Some of the girls in my class – the girls that were still skinny and flat-chested and smooth and cute – started “dating” some of the boys, but I never did. I just wanted to be left alone. I think we all learned more about sex than was probably appropriate that year. Our teacher talked about it a lot. I remember him sharing a story about a girl masturbating with a Coke bottle in the bathroom. When I was in high school, I happened to be watching the news, and I saw the familiar face of my 5th grade teacher – in a story about his trial for molesting students. I was not molested, nor did I have any knowledge of this happening to anyone else in my class, but I have to say that I wasn’t as surprised to see that story as I should have been. I remember thinking that it explained why he wanted to spend so much time talking to 10 year olds about sex. At any rate, by the time 6th grade started, I was not only a loner, I was used to being picked on. I still wasn’t prepared for what the next three years or so would be like, though.
I stuck out like a sore thumb, or at least I felt like I did. I hit puberty so much earlier than the other girls. I had a good D-cup by 6th grade, and I towered over almost everyone else too (I should have enjoyed that more – I think it was my last good growth spurt. Today I’m a fairly short adult. But at the time, I was tall for my age.) Tall and boobular might have been OK, but I was also pudgy. Not fat – I certainly felt fat, and was sometimes called fat, but pictures from the time don’t lie. I was not fat. I just wasn’t a size 0. I had acne. My hair was uncontrollably greasy. My (single) mother was supporting us with a number of waitressing jobs while in school completing her nursing degree, so we were pretty poor. That meant I had ugly glasses frames from the Lions Club bin and thrift store clothes that never fit quite right, especially because I was just so top heavy. I also carried a violin and a stack of novels everywhere I went. I was not “popular crowd” material. I wasn’t even friend material… I really don’t remember having any that year. To the best of my recollection, it all started with the bus. I was the only 6th grader at my bus stop, and the 8th grade boys took the opportunity to torment me. They would blow a whistle and ask, “did you hear that?” If I responded in the affirmative, they would crack up, shouting “it’s a DOG whistle.” (Of course, if I responded in the negative, they’d say, “yes you did” before moving on to the punch line. And if I stared straight ahead and ignored them, they’d just hurl taunts in my direction.) Whoever said ignoring bullies was the best way to deal with them clearly never met this group of 8th graders. They made up a song about my boobs (sung to the tune of Henry the Eighth) and belted it at top volume to and from the school. They made up nicknames for me – “silicone girl” – and they followed me through the next three years (creative, weren’t they?). Plenty of girls laughed right along with them. I would hunch in my seat, as close to the window as I could get, and some 8th grade boy would plop down next to me, sling his arm over my shoulders, and reach down and grab my breast. Over and over again. They grabbed me once after I got off the bus, one of them holding my arms while the others grabbed my breasts. I told the bus driver the next day, and she told me to run home next time instead of walking. I did, and they chased me. I outran them, but the memory of that chase is still crystal clear to me. That bus driver – she heard those songs, she heard their “jokes”, she saw them touch me. And she never said a word, other than telling me to run when I complained to her. Not one word. This was around the time I started getting “sick.” I would feel nauseous or headachy in the morning, and the malady would magically pass after I’d missed the school bus. It also started taking me a really long time to get dressed after gym – my last class of the day. Somehow I missed the afternoon bus a lot, too. My mom was mad, but my grandparents – bless them – drove from their home two towns away to pick me up or drop me off whenever I needed them. Eventually, I stopped even trying to take the bus. One of my grandparents just came and picked me up at home in the morning and at school in the afternoon. I never talked about what happened on the bus, but I suspect they knew that something was wrong. Unlike my very busy mother, they had the time and energy to be observant. I’ve never stopped being grateful for the reprieve they gave me. By about midway through 6th grade, I’d given up the bus for good. Unfortunately, the harassment followed me into the school. By 7th grade, the boys in my grade would “accidentally” bump into me in the halls, in order to grope my chest. That was actually the least of my worries at the time, though, because some of the girls had gotten in on the action too. It was a girl that first called me “slut”. A small group of girls, actually – it felt like the whole school, at the time, but it was really a handful of students that were doing anything, and another, slightly larger handful that watched them. Everyone else either didn’t notice or ignored what was going on. And it was a decently sized school, so there were plenty of people outside my immediate classmates that had no clue who any of us were. But It really felt like the whole world, at the time. Especially once the girls got into it. They repeated the nicknames the boys gave me – “bra stuffer” and “silicone girl” and added “slut” and “whore” for good measure. They told each other – loud enough for me to hear, naturally – made-up stories about how I tried to have sex with their boyfriends, or the male teachers, or the janitor. Sometimes the story would be that I had sex with whoever, sometimes the male in the story would turn me down for being “too nasty”. (Not only was I a virgin at this point, I had never even held hands with a boy. I didn’t date, kiss, or so much as have a male friend until I was 15.) They said I stuffed my bra for attention, or I got implants over the summer for attention. And my breasts just kept getting bigger, which was no help. I hated them. I fantasized about cutting them off. Remember the health classes, where they split up the boys and girls, and talk to the girls about periods and hand out tampons and pads? I got a bunch of pads and tampons hurled at me in the locker room, Carrie-style (though mercifully, without the chanting) after gym the day of that little event. A few days after that, one of the girls who seemed to hate me the most threw rocks at me in the hallway. At that point, I went to the guidance counselor and spilled everything. She called in the girl in question, who denied it and accused me of lying. I cried, she stared at me stony-faced, and the counselor dismissed her. Then she lectured me about how I needed to grow a “thicker skin”. She told me that everyone wasn’t going to like me, and that I needed to get over it. She said she couldn’t do anything for me, and that I should “stop being so emotional and grow up.” Then she sent me back to class. I never went to her again. I think I only went to one other teacher after that. So many of them had seen and heard things – they had to have! – and said nothing. The orchestra teacher was standing right behind the boy in that class who joked that I was “so big, she makes the mountains jealous” but she said nothing. The science teacher sat at her desk when I got up to give an oral report on George Washington Carver and couldn’t get more than halfway through it because of the boys throwing paper, hissing “slut” and laughing. She said nothing. (I didn’t give another oral report after that until 10th grade. I took Fs rather than stand in front of the class.) The reading teacher saw “[my name] is a SLUT!!!” scrawled on a desk in her classroom – she called me out of another class to ask me if I wrote it, and kept me there, asking me over and over again, until I started crying in front of the class she had in there at the time. Why would I have written that? But after the meeting with the guidance counselor, I went to my history teacher and ask if I could move my seat away from the girl who had thrown the rocks. He was strict – no one messed around in his class, so I don’t know if he heard or saw anything. He was the type of teacher who kept his ears and eyes open, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew what was happening. He asked me why I wanted to move my seat, but I couldn’t imagine explaining everything to a man, especially after the meeting with the guidance counselor. I think I just said, “because she hates me”. I remember he looked at me for the longest time before finally giving permission for me to move. That was the most help I got from any teacher in that school during those three years. That was the year I started cutting. I had had a ganglion cyst removed from my wrist in the 6th grade, but the surgery apparently didn’t get it all, and it would pop back up from time to time. So I had a wrist brace for my left wrist. When I wanted to cut, I did it on my left wrist and covered it with the brace, making the excuse that the cyst was bothering me. I did that throughout the 8th grade too. I remember contemplating suicide. I couldn’t see any other way out of the harassment. I felt like it would never end. And then – it did. Middle school ended. The high school was bigger, more crowded, and full of older girls who looked more grown up than I did. Most of the girls in my grade had finally hit puberty by 9th grade – after that, I think the flat-chested girls got picked on more. I made a few friends in 9th, and while I was still mostly a loner, and I there were still a few girls who said mean things whenever they could (including one who walked up to me and slapped me in the face in the middle of a class – another time when a teacher was in the room, and had to have seen it, but did absolutely nothing) but for the most part, I was just left alone. Which was fine by me. And then in 10th grade, things changed basically overnight. I didn’t change, not really – I was a tiny bit taller, I had less baby fat, and I got contacts (that was a big thing) – but I don’t really think it was that. My few friends broadened into a group of tight friends, including some boys. Guys started asking me out (seriously, not just to laugh in my face) and the harassment ceased entirely. It was just over. If 6th-8th grades were the worst years of my life, 10th-12th were absolutely the best. I was never one of the “popular” kids, but suddenly I had at least a little respect for being smart, people thought I was pretty, and no one called me a slut. Slut-shaming did happen, I’m sad to say, but not to me. And the girls I knew – some of whom were friends of mine – who dealt with "slut" shaming in our later teenage years were some of the first women that I ever heard say things like, “If boys can enjoy sex, why can’t we? Why are we sluts while they get to be players? We’re allowed to enjoy sex too.” They fought back against the shaming and the double standards. They were brave, and they embodied sex-positivity before I ever actually heard that phrase. With that attitude floating around, I think we all felt a bit more empowered. Two more things. One: you may be wondering why I never told my mom what I was dealing with. With time, and distance, and an adult perspective, I truly wish that I had. In instances not related to bullying, when someone was unfair to me, my mother always defended me. Had she known the kind of hell I was going through, I have no doubts – now – that she would have raised hell. She’d have pulled me out, if that was what it took, but she probably would have taken some teachers and parents with her. But at the time, I had two thoughts on the matter. One was that my mom was already busy and stressed with work and school and single parenting, and I didn’t want to put any more stress on her. And two was that my mother – my petite, thin, beautiful, outgoing mother – was the social butterfly that I never would or could be. She was the life of every party, everyone loved her, and I felt she didn’t understand my introversion and bookworminess as it was. I thought that she’d be ashamed of me. I couldn’t imagine telling her that her daughter was not just a shy little mouse, she was actually a reviled freak at school. I had the awful feeling that she might agree that I deserved what I was getting. I want to reiterate that my mother is not a terrible person or a bad mother, and I know NOW that she’d have helped me. But I wasn’t thinking like an adult then. I was thinking like the traumatized child that I was. And it didn’t help that every adult that I DID try to talk to brushed me off or threw me to the wolves. I would advise girls who have a safe, non-abusive parent to tell that parent about bullying, even if you're afraid they won't understand. They may surprise you. Two: I want girls out there to know that it does get better. I’ve wanted so much to reach back in time and tell some of the girls whose suicides have made headlines that if they could just have held out a little longer, things will get better. That's an important message. But – without taking away from that hopeful message – I want bullies out there to know that just because things can get better, doesn’t mean that you’re not causing permanent harm. I am 35 years old and a married mother of 3. I look nothing like what I did in middle school, but when I close my eyes and try to picture myself, what I see is the 7th grade me with the greasy hair and bad glasses. I need to look in the mirror to reassure myself that I’m not her anymore. In my 20s, I had a panic attack while working at a summer camp when I was put in charge of a group of 11 year old boys. I had to remind myself daily that I was an adult now, and that they couldn’t hurt me. I don’t remember ever not hating my breasts – I still do, even now. I probably always will. And that word “slut” stayed in my head for years, and it affected decisions I made about my sexual behavior, even when I knew better. It affected relationships, it affected my ability to enjoy sex, it affected my self-esteem. For years. Even though I knew that it shouldn’t. People don’t just “get over” protracted periods of bullying. It stays with you. It changes your life. And bullies become this ugly scar on your life. You should think about whether or not you want to be remembered as someone’s ugly scar in 20 years before you decide to tease and taunt and spread rumors call names. It was sixth grade. It was supposed to be the best year of elementary school, the last one, therefore the most fun. Not for me. I'm of Indian origin, and have a light brown complexion. And I don't know what I ever did, but this group of boys were terrible to me. Now that I look back I realize I only had three friends and I wasn't even that close with them, just their tag along buddy. So I never told them about my bullying. The leader of the few boys that bullied me, Jared, was considered very "popular" and whatever he said his friends agreed. I had never done anything to him, never bothered him, but for some reason he was under the impression that I had a crush on him. This wasn't the case at all, and every time I told him that it wasn't true he would say, "Yeah right, you know you want this." I was quite the ugly child, and nerdy too. With bright blue glasses that he made fun of, I resented him. They called me names like "Piece of ****" (the stars being my name, not the word shit, because of my skin and origin) and they would make jokes about me behind my back and in front of me, too. I remember one day I was wearing a tight T-shirt and we were working on school projects. I was already self-conscious, and as I asked for someone to pass the glue, they all ignored me. So I reached for it and it began. He said, "Put that away! No one wants to see your junk! Maybe you should wear a longer shirt or something," etc. etc. and he said it quite loudly so that the whole group heard and just stared at me sympathetically. I pathetically pleaded with them with my eyes for help but they didn't seem to get the message. One of them was his friend; he never made fun of me, but he didn't stand up for me either.
I remember another time, I had gotten close to another girl, let's call her Lacy. She was really nice and had started her period in class. She was on the verge of tears as she whispered to me to ask if I had any pads. I felt terrible because I didn't. She had to get up to ask another girl and I noticed she bled through. I told her to sit down but it was too late. One of Jared's friends, Andrew, saw and we knew him as the school gossip. By the end of the day everyone knew and she was in tears. They had been making fun of her and laughing at her throughout recess. I found her crying in the bathroom once school was over and we just sat and talked. Thankfully it all blew over for her, but she did move, and I miss her a lot. I'm now a freshman in high school. I made new friends. Jared never apologized but he left me alone toward the end of seventh grade. I know this isn't as bad as most people's stories, but I've never told anyone this before, and I'm glad to be a part of this project. Reading your diary had me thinking a lot of things. Mostly about how I would be in the other situation, and it kind of resurfaced memories. when I was younger, I was the opposite of you. I had previously lived in florida, where my life was not perfect, but good. I was tall, slightly more developed than my peers and a nice-ish person, so I might've had it good if I had actually stayed. Then, in 4th grade, I moved to Jamaica where I experienced a massive culture shift. whereas in America, everything about me from my huge eyes to my natural cheekbones were greatly admired, down there they were shunned. The other kids would constantly make fun of me, teasing me and picking at me. I used to cry at least one time a day. That's also when I first developed an interest in science and started making poisons for myself. In 5th grade, it got better and I started liking boys. But they were relentless in their scorn because they upheld their memory of the weird, sniveling girl they once knew. It was a small school so word travels fast and where as in your case, you were either lusted after or loathed, I was either scorned or shunned. The first suicide attempt of a girl who was, only years before, a happy ray of sunshine, took place this year. By 6th grade I started to make up rumors, telling the girls in my class that I had a boyfriend, even when I knew I didn't. It was obvious that they didn't believe me, but I kept up the charade. We all went off to high school in 7th grade. Over the summer, I made myself promise that the suicidal thoughts would stop. However, the lies got worse because more and more girls were becoming more outward with sexuality and dating, so I had to play the part. Some of my old classmates were in my class, unfortunately, and saw right through my lies. I guess what I'm trying to say is, while you had it bad, other people were dealing with the exact opposite in just as bad a situation. I used to think that all the girls who acted like Emily wrote in her diary were sluts and that's it, but reading it has helped me to understand. I have made some real friends in the process of getting to know the "sluts" in class, regardless of my mothers disdain for them.
When I was 11, I sent my first naked picture. I can't exactly remember why I didn't it, but it wasn't that bad. I sent it to someone that I had trusted, and he kept that trust - as far as I know. The bullying didn't start until 2014, when I was 12. I sent a picture of my "ass" to someone. I sent it because he'd shown me a picture of another girl, and I wanted to impress him. He respected me, but deep down I knew it would get into the wrong hands. I should've known not to trust somebody who sent me someone else's pictures. He sent it to someone who disliked me, and they posted it on my social media, which luckily wasn't linked to any of my family or school friends as it was just for "online friends." You'd think after that I would learn, right? I didn't. I met this guy online, we'll call him B, it was August 2014 and he was 18. I told him I was 16 because I didn't want him to judge me by my age, and I really liked him. We started to date and we really hit it off. After a month into the relationship we had a sexual conversation. I didn't mind. I told him I was turned on and masturbating, and he said "proof." I sent two pictures. Now I had sent three inappropriate pictures to strangers on the internet. B and I broke up; it was a bad break up. We had an argument and I couldn't take it anymore, so, and I quote, I told him to "go fuck a goat." This made him mad. He told me I didn't want to mess with him, but I did. He spread my pictures. Again, luckily, not getting to my family nor my school friends. I find myself repeating myself, but by now you'd think, "Ah she's learnt her lesson, she'll be fine." Oh no. God no. It hasn't even started yet. Since the pictures got spread, I started to lose respect for myself and my body everyday. Every time someone would say something insulting about the pictures, my self esteem would drop lower until I felt unwanted and unloved. People called me "easy" and "slut" and I started to believe it. By 2015, I'd sent more naked pictures than I can count. And I am not proud.
My 13th birthday was January 5th 2015, and my granddad had died 4 days before. I was going through a very hard time. I met another guy online, this time he was 20. We'll call him L. L helped me get through this time, but it was not long before he started asking for more than an innocent relationship. He started asking for pictures, he'd also ask for "Skype sex," which is when he masturbates on webcam, and so do I. I did it. Little did I know, L recorded it. He also saved every picture and video I sent him. He used it against me. I gave him my password to my Facebook account, and it was the same password for all of my other accounts. I was so stupid. He found a chat I'd had with a guy while we were dating and he overreacted. I can remember having to shower that night but I couldn't because L was threatening me. He wouldn't let me go and by then I was in tears. He told me to call him so I did. L told me he had my parents' contact details and that he would tell them all about their "precious little daughter." I knew these were empty threats but they still upset me. I couldn't stop crying and I begged L to stop. "I'll do anything, please." I remembering crying into my phone. He finally calmed down and I remember him saying something about loving him and I agreed. I was now in a long distance relationship I couldn't get out of. He had my passwords, he had my family (which I later found out to be not true, but I still was scared in case he really did), and he had naked pictures and videos of me. I broke up with him finally in the middle of February, and I met M. M helped me get away from L, but L warned me about M, telling me M was worse than him. I didn't listen. But I should've listened. M and I had a long distance relationship on and off for 3 months. He cheated on me and I broke up with him. He begged for me back and I forgave him, stupidly. A few weeks later I broke up with him again because we argued too much. He attempted being nice to me to get me back, and I think he realised this didn't work. He became really nasty. He had a picture of my boobs that he could use against me. He also had my sister's Twitter username. He told me I had to cut "M" into my wrist and take a picture of it and send it to him, otherwise he would send the nude to my sister. I did the self harm. M wanted more. He attempted to force me into having a relationship and I wasn't going to do that again. I decided I would rather die. So that's what I did. The next morning, after M had messaged my sister, I read the messages. She didn't believe the picture was me. I felt relieved. Yet I still couldn't face her and I still wanted to die. I overdosed on painkillers that day, 14th April 2015, the day I could've died. My sister found me when she came home from her study group. My mum was also home and I don't know what happened because I was unconscious and it's all a blur really. I had to spend 3 days in hospital, I had to be assessed without them asking for my consent, and I had to see a psychiatric doctor (who is lovely and I still see today), to discuss my treatment and also why I did it. I now am on the waiting list for therapy, I have a family that understands, I have really supportive friends that know a bit of what happened, and I can honestly say I'm becoming happier. I need to work on some things but I'm getting better. And I can also honestly say, no more nudes to random strangers online!!! Your diary entries really helped me, knowing that your younger brain worked the same way as mine once did, and still does at times. Thank you. - Holly I'm from the wonderful state of Wisconsin. I grew up in a town of around 2,000 people, and everybody knew everybody. Secrets were not kept very well here. I grew up around parents that were very accepting, and that was all I knew. Until I hit middle school. I went through puberty at a very early age, and I looked different. I had large breasts and I didn't understand why people would stare. To me they were just normal and nothing to look at. Upon entering 7th grade I began to get harassed and guys would ask me for sexual favors. When I would say no, they would spread rumors about how I was a whore and how I had STDs. This was really hard for me to cope with, so I began to cut myself to try to handle the pain. I would carve words such as 'slut', 'ugly' and 'useless' into my skin to try and survive the bullying. When it was the summer of 8th grade, I had found a boy who seemed interested in me. Much to my dismay, he was only interested in my body. The first day we hung out, he touched me in very inappropriate ways and talked me into having unprotected sex. I was too scared to say no so all I did was let him do what he wanted. The next day he told me I was a useless bitch and how I would never be loved. He then proceeded to tell all his friends what he did and I lost all my friends. His friends would contact me on social media and call me terrible names and tell me to kill myself. I went through a terrible patch of suicidal thought and began wondering what I did to be hated so much. Luckily, my parents found out and helped me pull myself together. Please, if you're ever feeling suicidal remember that somebody always loves you. There's always help and hope. - Liz Noeske
My story doesn't start in school. It doesn't start anywhere physical in fact. This was a form of cyber-bullying. Extreme cyber-bullying. Most say that cyber-bullying is easy to stop and it doesn't exist. Not this, because believe me, I tried. I was 12 when it started. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I became part of an online community and everyone was older than me. I lied about my age and said I was 15, I didn't want to be treated as a minority because of my age. As I kept the lie going I figured I'd have to act like a 15 year old girl would do, and I had a 15 year old sister, so I started watching her closely to see how she acts. I went to the extreme of going through her phone chats. I saw that she'd sent nude pictures of herself to her ex-boyfriend, and I was only trying to be like her. Someone asked me for a nude picture, and because I didn't want to be different, I sent it. I thought it'd be okay, I thought it would never come up again. Oh how wrong I was. The guy I had sent it to spread it, and someone that got hold of it had a very big grudge against me. He posted it for everyone to see. I wasn't bothered because it was only my butt, and you see them everyday, but I was labelled as "easy." I started to believe it. I started to believe I was easy.
I got into a long distance relationship with an 18 year old, he didn't know I was 12 at the time, he thought I was 15 almost 16. He asked to see a picture of my vagina. I sent it. When we broke up, he leaked the picture, and I didn't think that would still be haunting me, but I still get people coming up to me and quoting the caption (it was sent via snapchat). It really knocked my confidence, so I sent naked pictures of myself a lot, just to feel good about myself. It was a way of coping, it helped me stop cutting. It went too far one day. A boy found my sister's twitter account. He started threatening me and blackmailing me. I couldn't take it. He sent my sister a nude of me and I didn't take it well. That day I tried to kill myself. I couldn't face the fact that I was a "slut." That I sent pictures of myself when I was 12-13. I couldn't face it anymore. Everything had built up so I did it. I overdosed on painkillers. I'm still 13, it has been 2 months since I overdosed and I am getting better. I have psychiatric sessions every month and I'm on the waiting list for therapy. I also must say that Wattpad has helped me a lot too. It made me feel less lonely in a way. It makes me happy. I no longer think badly about myself. I no longer send naked pictures of myself to strangers. I no longer believe that I'm "easy." People change. And I'm glad I did. I am going to share my story of bullying with you. I hate to say it, but in this story, I am the bully. This story starts back in daycare. In daycare I became friends with a kid named L. We were both the same age and we played a lot together. We had a great time with each other until we drifted apart and I started hanging out with other kids. When I got into grade school, I went to an after school program run by the daycare I went to as a toddler. I didn't see A that much anymore, but I met M. M was another girl like me. At the start, M and I hated each other... and I mean HATED. There were seriously times when we talked about killing each other. It was bad. As time went on, M and I started to like each other more and more. M and I found out that we were really alike and we became fast friends. Around this time I started to develop a crush on my friend from daycare, L. I think it was in Grade 4 when I really started to have a crush on L. I would think about him a lot, and I finally got the courage to ask him out (with M by my side). L said yes, and I was so happy. My relationship with L lasted a whopping 1 day. He was my first boyfriend, so I got over him pretty easily. I ended up dating one more guy before I started having feelings about L again. Now, flash forward 2 years to grade 6. I was still best friends with M, and I was starting to become really good friends with L too. I had told basically all of my secrets to M, so she knew that I was obsessed with L. Then one day, L asked M out. I was pretty upset when I found out that M said yes. M didn't even like L yet she was going out with him. With time, I became accepting of M and L's relationship. I told myself excuses like "they'll break up soon" and whatnot, but they didn't. The pair was inseparable. This relationship was lasting a lot longer than I thought it would, they were dating since the start of Grade 6 and it was now the middle of Grade 7. I decided I would do something that I told myself I would never do. I tried to split them up. I started to try to split them up by telling M how she could do so much better or by telling her that L would look at me or grab for my hand walking home. It didn't work. M would just brush off all of the comments saying that he was joking around. When this didn't work, I started to go further. I started to say that L had tried to kiss me on a snow day or that he would flirt with me walking home. Now M started to notice. The thing is, M was pretty much the perfect girlfriend and would talk it out with L. Nothing seemed to work. Then I got an idea, an awful idea - I would start to target M. I was ruthless with my rumour spreading. I would tell L that M called him stupid, even that she never liked him (which was partially true - M had developed feelings for him by now). At this point, I should have just stopped and apologized. I should have turned away and admitted defeat, but I didn't. I kept on going even though I knew that they had both clued into my scheme. Again, nothing was working. So in a last ditch attempt, I told L that M liked one of his friends more than him. This time L payed attention. L ended up breaking up with M and I was pretty happy. (I know I'm an awful person, I have come to terms with it by now.) But, just like our relationship in Grade 4, that decision only lasted a day. I am thankful that me being a bully stopped by the end of the school year. I am now in Grade 8. M and L did eventually split up, and now M is with another guy in our class. I know that this may not seem like a horrible act to some, but you have to understand that M was going through others bullying her as well. When I - one of her friends - bullied her, that gave another crop of a-holes like me an excuse to bully her as well. The names that I called M sometimes still come up today, more than a year after the bullying stopped. I hope that my story both prevents others from bullying, as well as sheds light on why people bully. I would like to apologize to everyone who has been bullied in any way, I am thankful for those who were strong enough to withstand it, and I feel the pain of those that couldn't. Thank you. Sincerely, Moira
I was never called a slut or anything like that until I was in 6th grade. It all started when the boy I liked asked me out. At recess we would hang out with his friends and my friends. His friends wanted us to break up. They would say mean things to me like "You're such a slut", or "hey bitch", or "go f!ck yourself". Once one of his friends kicked me. My boyfriend would tell them to stop and try and punch them or something, and they would stop temporarily, but would just end up doing it again. My boyfriend stopped hanging out with one of his friends, I appreciated that, as that "friend" was the one who did most of the mean name calling. One day in class I was in a group with a guy I didn't like very much, but was fun to talk to. So when he said "move, girl", I said "move, boy", and he said "move, hot girl" and then started to look at my butt. I told him to stop but he didn't. He then tried to touch my butt, I slapped him on the hand but then he tried again. I again slapped him. When I wasn't looking or paying attention he succeeded in touching my butt. He eventually stopped. I didn't tell my teacher because it was embarrassing. I could barely tell my friends or my boyfriend. They all said it wasn't my fault, but for as some reason I felt bad. I plan on someday telling my parents but not before I enter 7th grade which will be this year. I don't know why I'm scared, I just am. I'm sorry if I wasted your time I just needed to get it out. Slut shaming and bullying is horrible. Don't do it, just be yourself.
I've always been one to stand up for myself. I'm so thankful for a strong, proud, loving mother, who taught me to value myself, that my words and thoughts are valid, and that my body is my own. In elementary school, I first encountered sexual bullying. It wasn't being directed at me, but one of my best friends, who had developed large breasts at an early age (around 5th grade.) Boys and girls called her a "slut," and talked about her body freely. It got to the point that she was afraid to even go swimming with me without wearing a big, opaque t-shirt. I experienced bullying in different forms at the time, so while I identified with the pain bullying caused, I couldn't identify with the type of bullying she was experiencing. It wasn't until I was in 8th grade that I started to, sadly, understand what she'd gone through. Boys began thinking it was funny to "snap" a girl's bra clasps and straps. One boy, who I considered a friend, walked by me in the very crowded hallway one day, and pulled back on my bra, hard. I instantly became enraged, and slugged him in the arm. I felt so violated, not just because of the physical and sexual nature of the act, but because it violated the trust I had in him as a friend. I started to develop a reputation as someone not to be messed with, due to my confidence and ability to stand up for myself and other people. Most people thought I was much tougher than I actually was in school, and it's a little sad to think that the negative side of that kind of reputation may have caused some people not to want to get to know me, because they thought I was a "bitch." In high school, I experienced unwanted touch, like an ambush kiss in the hallway, and the occasional sexually explicit comment. For the most part, the incidents were mild. I think it's probably because I wasn't a very sexual person at a young age, and wasn't necessarily "girly"; I was more focused on school work and art than relationships, and didn't even begin wearing makeup or styling my hair until my junior year in high school. It was that year that I had the most disturbing experience with a classmate, a boy, in one of my classes. He was a goth kid, shy, smart, and nice to me. I wasn't attracted to him, but I enjoyed talking to him, so when he asked me to a dance, I said I'd go with him as a friend. We agreed to meet there, and we just hung out for most of the dance, since he didn't actually have any interest in dancing. After the dance was over, he tried to kiss me, but I moved away. He asked if I wanted to go out on a date with him, and I, politely as I could, said that I wasn't interested. The next week at school, a friend came running up to me saying that he was telling a group of people in the courtyard that I was a bitch for rejecting him, and that he was going to slit my throat. No one, to my knowledge, had ever threatened my life before, and this boy was so angry that I wouldn't kiss him or date him that he was telling everyone who would listen that he was going to kill me, and how. I remember putting on a brave face, and telling my friend that I wasn't afraid, but I was. I believed that this boy would hurt me if he got the chance. I even wished that I had allowed him to kiss me, so that he wouldn't be so angry. I honestly don't remember which adults I decided to tell about his threats, if any, but, thankfully, he never attempted to harm me. It was the first time I'd ever really rejected someone's advances, and I found out instantly how dangerous that can potentially be. It was a turning point for me, knowing how far some people are willing to go when they don't get what, or who, they want. Later in school, I would go on one date with another boy who I liked, but after going out, didn't want to pursue a relationship. I turned him down when he asked me out again, and he told people that I had "led him on," and called me some names. I would think that it was hurtful, but that it could be so much worse. - Chelsea Keesler
I am 55 years old now. This has been in my background forever and I have never shared this with anyone but my son's therapist. I was the baby of my family and the only girl. I grew up with my brothers and their friends talking about "those girls", the "sluts" who were easy and had sex. I was first molested by a friend of my oldest brother when I was 5. He fondled me and performed oral sex on me. I was too ashamed to say anything to anyone as only those "sluts" had sex. It happened again when I was 12 and this time it was by a friend of my middle brother. Again I thought I was to blame as only "sluts" had sex. I became very promiscuous and found out that I actually enjoyed sex. I always felt bad I didn't tell anyone because I worried about others that were molested by these guys. I have two children and when they would speak of young ladies and start to refer to them as sluts, I told them just because someone enjoyed sex and determined when and where they would have it did not make that individual a slut or loose or a whore. Both of them, a girl and a boy, knew it was a woman's right to call the shots in her sexual life.
When I was younger I felt like the only reason I ever got anybody's attention was because I was "active", (Obviously that's what was happening). No matter how promiscuous someone is, no means no. One night during freshman year my best friend and I had gotten drunk and walked to the high school to watch another friend of ours play volleyball. My phone had been vibrating off the hook with texts from my mom who was pissed I wasn't at home babysitting like I was supposed to be. Eventually I turned to my best friend and told her I needed to go home before I got in huge trouble, and since she wanted to stay and watch, I started to walk home. A little down the street I got a text from this guy I had been crushing on for YEARS. He said he was driving by and asked if I needed a ride home. I said yes. Mostly for my sake, I try not to remember how that night went down, and I ALWAYS remind myself how stupid it was to invite him over. But I honestly did just want to hang out with him. He was a popular guy, and I thought maybe if I could hang with him, I could hang with the others. Except he had other plans. And I spent the next week in the counsellors office, missing all my classes and talking to a certain police officer (I never got to thank him, I certainly would have). But I didn't want to have sex with him, and even though I can't remember everything that happened, I do remember saying no. And I do remember trying to push him off me. And it shouldn't matter that I invited him into my home, because I said no. A few weeks later I found out I was not the only girl it had happened to, and because I came out and told, so did a few others. About the same time as his trial (he was found guilty on all counts) a friend of his messaged me and told me that I was just an ugly slut who got mad when he didn't want anything more than sex. My inbox was bombarded with messages from his friends calling me all sorts of things. So when I showed the police officer, he told me to ignore it, because I knew it wasn't true, and they knew it wasn't true but were in denial. But I still carved 'ugly' into my thigh because that's the only part that stuck with me. And every couple of months I still go over it with a razor because it feels right. Though it's been almost 6 years, I see him around town and I'm instantly taken back to that 13 year old year and I can't help but feel helpless and weak.
I was in sixth grade when I first questioned my sexuality. I wasn't exactly in a safe place to do so, though, because I live in the Bible Belt, which means that I see a lot of "Pray the Gay away" and "Marriage=wife+husband" stickers on cars. So my friend also questioned if she was straight or not, and we constantly looked up different terms and sexualities that could apply to us, and soon found out that we were bisexual. Over time, I developed the biggest crush on her, and nearly a day after I told her about my feelings, she said that she thought she was straight. Of course I was a little heartbroken - who wouldn't be?! - but I knew that I had to accept her like she accepted me. And I thought she was my friend, honestly, I mean, she wouldn't tell anyone, right? Wrong. The next year (I told her in May), the beginning of seventh grade, I came back to people chanting "BISLUT!" at me in the hallway and "WHORE" and "SELFISH BISEXUAL" written on anonymous notes, which annually appeared in my locker. I had nearly no friends. All of them were either afraid of me falling in love with them or they didn't want to be around the "whore" or "slut". Over time, I thought I'd get used to it… but I didn't. The name calling went on and on and it never was normal. So I picked up a blade. I would cut nearly everyday, and try my best to hide it from the people who didn't want me doing it. I didn't tell anyone. Months passed, and I fell into depression worse than ever. My mother gave me my pills every single day, and carefully watched me. But I felt like living wasn't worth it. And then, I swallowed fifteen sleeping pills. I would've died right then if my mother hadn't walked in on me to give me my antidepressant, and worried, she took to me to the hospital. Okay, so if you have a failed suicide attempt and you're taken to the hospital because you have a very small chance of living, you probably will end up in a psych ward, which is what happened to me. I was in there for two weeks, and I made amazing friends. I dealt with my sexuality, and I learned that just because I'm attracted to both doesn't mean I'm a "slut". (No one is.) Now, let me say this. Mental hospitals really aren't that scary. They're very plain and dull but not scary. The nurses aren't mean and the patients aren't going to murder you in your sleep. You're safe there. Trust me. I met a really nice lesbian who was in there because of her grandparents' emotional abuse towards her, which led her to self-harm. I met a girl who suffered from a bipolar disorder who also was bisexual. Over all, there was just a lot of amazing people. And the next year when I went to a different school, I was welcomed for my sexuality, and even had a girlfriend, which was my first openly gay relationship. What I'm trying to say is be yourself. There's no one more beautiful. - Sarah
When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms.10/21/2019
It all started when I was 5 years old. I was in kindergarten. Kids would tease me because I was so different, calling me retard, stupid, I would just lash out and hit one of one the bullies because I did not know how to control my anger. So I was put in a private school. The school could not handle bad behavior so I was kicked out. I was a loner and did not have many friends! My dad abused me as a child with a belt at age 5 on up until I was 11, and with no dinner. As I was growing up I was out of the one private school and put back in regular school when I was in 4th grade to 5th grade and I was 11 and 12 yrs old. My next door neighbor molested me at the age of 11 for about 6 months and was never convicted of it. I never told anyone about it until years later. While that was going on I would mutilate myself with a razor blade. When I was 13 years old I was molested by my stepfather from 13 to 16. He never was convicted. While that was going on I tried to kill myself with a knife. I was kicked out of 6th grade because I beat up the bully and I tried to kill myself! When I was 14 years old I was date raped by two guys. One guy I knew of, the other guy I never knew at all. The one guy hit my head in the back seat and knocked me out and that is all I could remember. They both were not convicted! I was 18 years old when my ex boy friend abused me. He was a lot older than me by 13 years. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me across the floor, and took his head and split my lip, and took out his 37 and put it to my head and said, "You're mine." To this day I have a restraining order on him for life. In the same year I was going back to regular school (when I was 17, that is when I went back). I was doing okay, did not make friends well, I was a loner! I went to my junior prom in 1991. So in 1991 to 1992 as I was in my senior year, I just lost it. I was put in a mental facility for teenagers because I was still going to school. I just one day snapped, as I was out of control of what happened to me in the past and what was current at the time. When I came back from being in the hospital to high school, I was not welcomed with opened arms. I was bullied so badly I came home just in tears. It was so bad, sexually and other things, they called me Hotdog Girl: "I heard when she stuck it up there it broke off and she had to be rushed to the hospital to have it surgically removed," over and over again during my high school senior year in 1992. I had to be home schooled from November to May until I was at my senior prom. After that I went back to high school but that did not last long. Mind you, I was petite. I was skinny with big breasts. I was 109 lbs. On June 18th, 1992 as my name was called as I was getting my high school diploma, some guy called out and said, "Hey Hotdog Girl!" and everyone just clapped and cheered. I was so embarrassed, humiliated, and upset about it that I just decided that I will never go to a high school reunion. And I am now 41 years old! Only 3 people said they were sorry but the rest, no! On July 28th, 2010 I was getting bullied by a 30 year old female. Calling me all kinds of names, she struck me on the side of my neck with a closed fist and damaged my neck (called a brachial plexus injury). I will wear a splint on my left side of my wrist for the rest of my life. All because I was sticking up for myself and I was avoiding a fight to walk away! And justice was never served. - Jen
Let me start by divulging my age. I am 60 soon to be 61. I saw your story on The Doctors and it struck a chord. I suffered from the damages of the "slut" label while growing up in a southern California resort town, with little supervision, really no supervision. I was pinned down on the beach and groped by boys multiple times; I was 12. My crime was developing too fast, and my other crime was befriending a severely psychologically damaged, obviously sexually abused 12 yr old girl who was gang raped by older boys or as it was called pull the train. I was actually on a boat with her and my 12 yr old boyfriend when it happened. I panicked and one of the older boys took the two of us back to shore but left my friend behind. I have know idea how many times this scenario played out but it was many. What a sad creature with the dead look in her eyes. It was rumored she committed suicide. This event as well as the sexual abuse inflicted upon me by my father from age 6 to 9 shaped my self image and my behavior. I've never really recovered and have had many disastrous relationships but now at this age I am finally free, I don't need sex, I don't want sex, I'm free to never tolerate abusive behaviors that I used to tolerate because I was searching for love in all the wrong places. Now after raising five children and just starting grad school in marriage and family counseling, I'm not only taking control of my own life but reaching out in the hopes of making a difference in women's lives who have been there and are struggling to get back into life again. Being labeled a slut in middle school when girls are at their most vulnerable is a devastating thing to happen, even more so in today's digital world. I hope my story puts a different perspective on the topic. This is not a new phenomenon. - Allison Greer
I was slut shamed when I was 13-15 years old. I am now 35. I overcame it. When I was 13, I wanted to be liked because I didn't get the attention from my parents that I needed. A boy acted like he liked me and talked me into meeting him. When I meet him he had his best friend there and talked me into sleeping with both of them. After that the entire group slut shamed me. I was never the same. I became very depressed and lost many friends. Eventually I became very promiscuous, trying to prove to myself that I wasn't a slut but that I could be sexual and it wasn't a bad thing. I love what you are doing! I have 3 daughters and I don't want what happened to me to happen to them. - Regina
I am no stranger to the word "slut". People have called me it before when the word never bothered me, not knowing what it meant. My sister has called me a slut before and causally blames "sluts" for everyday problems. But the reason why I am writing this isn't about me, but about people making "silly" jokes about this term. In 7th grade I had already been dealing with problems of my own, making me shy, henceforth nobody listening to me. Which I thought was fine in the beginning. It was only whispers from the guys across the room so I thought it would blow over. Boy was I wrong! Only a little time passed before this boy (who shall remain nameless) decided to push me over the fence, and into the water below when he told a good friend of mine as he pointed to a girl wearing a skirt, "If she wears a short skirt, she is asking for it!" That sentence will forever be in my memory as the day I started to take it all seriously. I tried to speak up from that day on about everything that happened, but as always I am the the shy one, the one nobody listens to so I am never heard at all. There was one thing I could have done and I suggest to anyone reading this, tell an adult and make sure they are aware of everything going on. Once I told my teacher the kids who made the jokes got in trouble and I was moved from the boy that made the comment's class. I am now making friends and I am feeling better about who I am. - Raven
I was a happy 12 year old. I was overweight and I loved myself. I had everything - adoring parents, a great hobby, and a sustainable allowance for everything I could have asked for. He was not a bad person. I knew it. His mother had cancer and passed away, and he didn't have a penny on him to eat. We were friends, we liked teasing one another, we hung out... until one day, he asked me to meet him at the lift lobby. He said something about giving me a gift and wanting to show me something, and I thought nothing of it. What would a twelve year old child do with me anyway? I could take care of myself, or so I thought. I thought nothing of it. I left my classroom curious about what his gift could be. I wish I had suspected something was amiss. The boy who barely had fifty cents for a plate of noodles wanted to buy me a gift. I did meet him, and he said a string of horrible things that all fade into the words "whore" and "prostitute" and then he touched me. My confidence was shattered. I went home and showered until my skin was raw, and I felt dirty. It was as if I got a layer of grime on my skin and a sticker on my forehead that screamed "dirty" or "prostitute". I believed every single one of his words. I told my mother a few days later and I remember her laughing about it with my dad. I did not understand what was going on, and I thought that it was all just a phase I was going through. The next day at school people called me a slut. My friends left. My team turned on me. People said I had sex with him for cash. The teachers who knew warned me against saying anything, intimidating me into silence and hoping that things would blow over, but the scars are still open and have been for a while. I am suicidal. I then got depression, anorexia and insomnia. I left the school for a new one and the lies followed. My relationships with my parents are in the gutter. I've been depressed and anorexic for three years and things are not looking up. I've been touched so many times in my new school I've lost count. This has been going on for three years and I am on my last legs, and it is not going to stop soon. Please share my story so people understand the horrible consequences of slut shaming. - Katrina North Note to the Katrina: You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Please call 1-800-273-8255. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily.
I'm depressed. And that's all I ever was before year 7, I was just a tad bit depressed, self conscious, with low self esteem. But then I got my first boyfriend. And I got another. Then the next year, I got a boyfriend every single month - no exceptions. Then some boys decided to ask if we could go further and sext or actually have sex. I was constantly groped by them, they squeezed my ass or boobs against my consent whenever they had the chance. Now, I'm in year 8. I realised I'm bisexual, have a fear of being alone and I was in love with my girl best friend. And due to my fear of being alone, I'm going through boys at an even quicker rate, flirting constantly, because I'm scared it's the only love I'll ever get. My parents know a brief outline of the sexual harassment that's happened (one of my exes decided to spread around school that he only dated me coz I'm "easy" and that I have "big tits") but they, too, think I'm a slut. Constantly telling me over and over again I'm not good enough and that I shouldn't teach my "tricks" to my younger friends. Then everyone in my entire year knows my bra size, which is 34DD. And just from those simple things, everyone believes all the sexual content surrounding me. Now, I've lost 90% of my friends, and trust only 3 people in my entire school. Now I'm depressed, suicidal, a self harmer, and a slut. Note to the author: Since you submitted this account anonymously, I don't have your contact information. Please reach out to a parent or teacher for help immediately. You are NOT alone, and this is NOT your fault. You can overcome it, just like the women who have shared their stories here before you. Judging from your language, I am guessing you're in the UK. Please visit www.samaritans.org and check out the resources available to you. I am always here to talk, as well. Love, Emily
Nearly every day of my life, I was a freak. I am/was super tall, I tower over everybody and scare people without meaning to. They say I don't scare them, but then they distance themselves and suddenly I'm alone. That also gained me some enemies, because I used to be used as a shield, someone people could go to if they had a problem with somebody. I dealt with them as nicely as I could, but even then they took everything I said the wrong way. I even angered my used-to-be-best friend, and that's when it started. She had more than half of the whole grade as her groupies, and she spread rumours. They reached my friends, and suddenly they didn't want to be around the clumsy monster. She called me a slut and a few other choice words one day. It's stuck with me ever since. Every time I wear a dress, skirt, tank top, etc. I hear the girl's voice in my head whispering that one word. I wear huge sweaters and jeans, even in the summer, because if I don't I feel like I'm naked, like I have no more armour. Because of that one, small word. My life had been downhill from there, but this year I've noticed I'm climbing back up the slope. I've worn a T-shirt without a sweater for the first time in nearly two years. Small, I know. Laughable, okay. But it's huge for me. Slut shaming needs to stop. It doesn't matter what clothes someone wears, how much makeup they put on, their sexuality, or how many people they sleep with. Because that one little word can ruin a good portion of someone's life.
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