I have been there

It was all over the news and on Facebook last week: another case of a young person who commits suicide because he'd been bullied his entire life... When is this going to end? How many more lives have to be taken? How much more blood does there have to be spilt? 

 

This is the message Tim left for his parents:

"Dear dad and mom,

all my life I've been ridiculed, tormented, bullied and excluded. You are great. I hope you are not mad.

Goodbye, Tim"

Tim was only 20 years old. Unfortunately, he's not a detached case. It seems to be an epidemic in Belgium and the Netherlands nowadays, and maybe it's even far more widespread than I actually thought. People that have been bullied and tormented for years don't see another option but to kill themselves, because they just can't take it anymore. They're dead-tired of all the humilliations and the verbal and physical aggression. It happens more and more often, and I'm asking myself, wasn't there something that could be done about it in order to avoid this tragic incident? Did it really have to go that far? What about the teachers that were involved? What about other people in Tim's class? And most importantly, what about the bullies themselves? Do they have any feeling of guilt? Or are they rather proud of their achievement? I can't imagine the latter, but I've never been in the shoes of the bully. However, I've been bullied too, although not my entire life, "just" a few years at secondary school. But apparently, it was enough to put me in a psychiatric hospital - to put it in a crude way. So it was actually kind of serious. And still today, I reproach the bullies for their behaviour and I still don't understand how one of them was capable of looking me straight in the eye two years ago when we had a reunion at school. Most of the people present there didn't dare to talk to me. Was it shame? Was it because they thought I'd be completely nuts? For all they knew was that in November 2000 I was sent to a psychiatric hospital for intensive treatment of "personal problems" and I never returned to that school. 

Look, I don't know what actually happened to Tim, but in my case it was mostly not really bullying. In the first and second year, however, it was. People bullied me because I got excellent grades, while they were not that bad either, so why should they take it out on me? They invented all kinds of nicknames that I won't reproduce here - it's just too painful to think about it again - but it was enough to break the already fragile equilibrium I had. Then, in the third and fourth year, I ended up in a more tolerant class where everybody wanted to get high grades, and that was such a relief to me. However, in the fifth class I ended up with the bullies again, and even with a few extra bullies that had never been in my class before, but that had a terrible reputation, even among the teachers. And already from day one they made it clear to me: I was inferior to them. They talked a lot behind my back, and I was extremely aware of that, and it affected me badly. They also kind of ignored me, as if I didn't exist. And if there's something I just don't support, it's being ignored or being treated like a stupid person. And that's exactly what happened there. They laughed behind my back, maybe because I couldn't afford clothes or shoes from a well-known, expensive brand like they did. Maybe because my parents weren't advocates or doctors, but humble workers. Maybe because I never dared to stand up for my rights. Or maybe because they knew I was extremely sensible and couldn't handle the moments in which they were even bullying the teachers. Most of the teachers hated and loathed our class. I remember very well that our mentor from the fifth year uttered his sincere condolences to our mentor of the sixth year at the beginning of that last year.

I think the bullies have no idea how they can destroy a person's life. I couldn't talk about it, but I did write some things down in my diary, although not that much. I couldn't cope with these feelings of humilliation and the exclusion. Then I knew I had to reach out for help, so I went to a teacher I trusted to talk about it. She brought me into contact with a kind of school psychologist who was responsible for people with this kind of problems at school. I felt quite ashamed of myself because of the fact that I needed the help of this man, so I didn't tell anyone. It was just our little secret. But somehow, one day, they, i.e. the bullies, found out, and the word spread in class that I was talking to a psychologist. Can you imagine their derision and hatred?! I can tell you, the moment they found out, they became even more icy towards me. They felt betrayed, and then the moment came when the school's director put the whole class in one room with the task to write down all the problems we experienced in class - anonymously - and then it happened that they agreed that it was all my fault and that something had to be done about me. In their eyes I had caused even more trouble than they already had, so I was the black sheep. From that moment on, even the people that had originally supported me more or less became icy towards me. It was all my fault that the teachers and the school's director had a grudge against our class, because I hadn't been able to keep my mouth shut. 

I somehow still feel guilty, I don't know why. And I'm still afraid of them. I seem to be very sensible to people's gazes towards me, to the way they behave when I'm in their midst. Even before I got admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I had these suicidal feelings. I felt that humilliated and ignored that I wanted to kill myself. I couldn't talk about it with anyone but the school's psychologist. My parents didn't approve of me talking to him, and it took a while before I told them about it. I think they are smarter than I want them to be. They just sensed that I wasn't feeling too well, but as I didn't talk much about school and what happened in class, they just couldn't know. But they felt the tension, and even at home, the mood became more and more tense. Of course it wasn't my parents' fault, and I have no hard feelings towards them, but they should have behaved differently when they found out that I'd gone to our GP to ask him to prescribe me antidepressants. 

In any case, I already had a pretty low selfesteem, and it got only worse because of the bullies. I have to admit though, that it's possible that I was already quite paranoid back then, because when I saw them whispering, laughing and talking in a suspicious way, I immediately concluded that they were talking and laughing about me. I actually got quite obsessed with my way of being: the clothes I wore, the things I said in class, my behaviour in class... I tried to talk to them, to share their interests, all this in order to form part of the club, but it was all in vain. I think they only made more fun of me because of my failing intentions to try to belong to them. Furthermore, we didn't share any interests. My interests at that time were Spanish and astronomy. I liked to study. And I was a Backstreet Boys-fan, a fact that they exploited extremely when it came to humilliate me.

Tim Ribberink is not a unique case, unfortunately. I also thought about killing myself back then, rather that than have to go back to that terrible school with her horrible fellow students every single day. Tim, I've been there, I know how it feels to be excluded, to be humilliated, to be ridiculed, but for some reason I'm still here, walking around on planet Earth and struggling every day in order to survive. It's a shame that no-one could convince you to stay a little longer in this world. I'm sure you'll be missed by family and friends. Unfortunately your death won't help to exterminate bullying. I do hope your bullies will feel this guilt and desperation that you once felt deep down in their hearts, and that they will from now on use your tragic death as a starting point to help to eradicate bullying from school (and work, for that matter). 

    

As for me, I've forgiven my bullies. I can't forget what they did to me, but I can forgive them and try to see it as their problem, because in fact, they should have to feel ashamed, not me. I don't know what they thought about me the moment I got admitted to a psychiatric hospital, but I don't expect them to have felt guilty or desperate. They were just too proud and stubborn for that. Time can heal the wounds people have left in your heart. Or rather: God can heal the pain in your heart caused by other people. And yes, He has done so...