A Bookworm and her bullies
- Typhani Russo
- Apr 19, 2023
- 10 min read
Updated: Apr 20, 2023
I was never a small child. Always had a little extra pudge, as you can see from the photo. Two years ago I showed my 4th-grade students that picture and a student asked me, “why is your skin hanging over your pants?” As the class erupted in laughter, I just shrugged and let it go. Now that I am older and wiser, these comments don’t bother me anymore.
Even so, it always felt like a crime to be chunky. I loved dancing and being in front of people, even if my chubbiness was on display. My mom owned her own dance and baton school so I grew up around girls of all different types and sizes. Happily, bee-bopping around is all I knew. I had friends, I was happy, and I had no idea what would await me in the near future.
There were instances of cruelty when I was a student at Ebner elementary school. When I bought the same jacket as another student because I loved it…when I tried to hang out with a certain group of kids…there were only side glances and whispers. But I knew. The whispers turned into audible words. Fat. Ugly. Loser.
After one of the boys in my grade made a nasty comment, I was more cautious about what I wore to school. I’ll never forget changing out of my blue horizontal striped dress because my mom was worried it would make me a definite target in their attacks. I couldn’t wear what I wanted to because of the people around me. I couldn’t just be me. Imagine being 8 years old and already learning how awful the world around you is.
5th grade is when I started to understand the nasty insults. I could see the way they looked at me like I didn’t fit in. This is when I truly started feeling insecure about my looks. My mom did everything she could to make sure I looked my best in an attempt to alleviate the laughs and the rude comments. She tried her hardest to defend me against my tormentors. She even called the mother of the boy who was harassing me in 4th grade.
I tried to fit in, to feel welcome into the cliques of my school. The more I tried, the more I realized the kindness of those people was simply a front. They tricked me into being friends with them. They invited me to birthday parties, and the movies, only to talk about me behind my back once I was out of sight.
6th grade. That’s when the bullying got worse. The girls formed even tighter-knit groups, the boys were gushing over the popular girls, and all the while I was getting called, “fat and loser.” I will never forget being at a band function and having a guy (I still remember his name) say to me when I walked in “as the world turns” in reference to my chubbiness. This was a favorite of theirs. Back in the 90’s when screen names and AOL instant messenger were the hottest thing around, this provided them the necessary outlet to hurt me outside of school. They knew they couldn’t get in trouble since it was off school grounds. My parents kept copies of printed-out threats and emotional stab wounds, sent from an anonymous screen name, “WeHateTyph35.” I knew who it was. Two girls had teamed up and tried to use the internet to hurt me. Of course they never came forward. That is the problem with bullies. They never do a good job of hiding who they are.
This was only elementary school. In middle school, I started using my God-given talents more often. I was a majorette, played the keyboard in jazz band, flute in orchestra and concert band, sang in chorus, Performing Arts Ensemble, and even made it to County, District and Regional Chorus. Little did I know back then that being talented and having hobbies made people hate me. My fellow classmates perceived me as a stuck-up “goody two shoes,” when I truly was a humble, sweet, and compassionate girl. I did a lot in the community as well. From performing in theater, dance and twirling competitions, to volunteering for charitable organizations, I enjoyed all of these activities and liked to be busy. My parents were proud and commended me for being such a good student and for staying focused and out of trouble. But to my fellow classmates, I was target practice. I felt their shots fired at me constantly….for no good reason other than earning laughs and admiration from their evil circle of friends.
Somehow, I survived this. Barely. In 9th grade, I managed to get past being punched by a guy in the spine and if you have ever watched the TV show Glee, yes, having cherry slushies thrown at you does happen in real life. The day I had that cherry slushie thrown at me, the school day hadn’t even started yet. We were gathered in the gym (because that’s what we had to do prior to the first period bell), and a group of my jealous heathens was whispering, chuckling, and looking my way. When the slushie hit, I hadn’t seen it coming. I had to call home and have my parents bring me new clothes before the day had even begun. I still had three years left with these same vicious people.
I started getting more gigs with my singing; performing the national anthem at Altoona Curve baseball games, Johnstown hockey games, and various other events including singing both the American and Canadian anthems in Canada. I won pageant titles, volunteered more, and made a name for myself in the community. As a result, the green-eyed monsters tried even harder to ruin me. The cliques were more secure and the taunts got even worse. To top it all off, there was a new ringleader in town at this circus called high school. She was also a singer, but had never trained professionally as I did. She had it in her head that she was the queen bee and made all of our vocal classes together a living nightmare. She managed to get everyone in the ensemble to turn against me and whenever I got a solo over her, she would throw harsh words at me, simply because she was mad that she didn’t get her way.
The guys I had to see every day still called me names and made fun of my weight. On social media, after I had my wisdom teeth removed, one boy, in particular, made fun of my “Fat chipmunk cheeks.” If you have ever had wisdom teeth pulled, you know there is swelling involved. But to my bullies, it was simply confirmation that I was, indeed, fat. The poisonous bullying virus seemed to infect everyone around me. The name-calling got worse and broke my spirit even more. But I was okay being alone. I kept to myself and kept it all inside.
The last straw for me was during the final days of my junior year of high school. Most of the bullies, including the ringleader, had multiple vocal classes with me, so when it got to be unbearable, I sent the music teacher an email. A week went by and still, the teacher hadn’t pulled me aside to ask me how she could help or what we could do to make my situation better. I doubted she had even told the principal what was happening.
It was then that I reached my breaking point. One day, when I went into her office to ask a question, this teacher had my email sitting on her desk for everyone to see. She had printed it out, which made me think that maybe she did read it. However, her lack of concern with confidentiality was about to make matters worse. One of my bullies read it. Complete chaos broke loose in the classroom. The bully was in my face screaming at me for “telling on her.” I thought she was going to punch me and I feared for my safety. My teacher stood there, “trying” to handle the situation, but failed horribly. I ended up yelling about how I was done with this school and ran out of the classroom. I went to call my parents. I stormed into the office, asked to use the phone, and said I was leaving. When my dad arrived, they actually tried to tell him that he couldn’t take me home. That I had to stay in this appalling excuse for a school where bullies were worshipped and administrators turned a blind eye. Needless to say, we both did leave and yet again, my soul was crushed. I had never seen my dad so emotionally overwhelmed, fighting for me and defending me, until that day.
Fast forward to Senior year. Having had a summer break, I thought going back for my senior year would be better. I secretly hoped that my classmates had matured over the summer and learned a little bit about respecting others. I had never been so wrong in my life. Every single class I walked into, there she was; the mastermind behind the worst years of my life. On the first day, she was already making disparaging remarks. Already, I wanted to leave. When my mom picked me up that day, it was the first time in 18 years I had ever said a swear word. Saying it with a flushed face drowning in tears, my mother didn’t even have to ask how my day was. Nor was she mad at me for swearing. She knew I had had enough. The next day, my mom took me to another school where I was enrolled immediately. Seeing the damage and heartache being bullied was causing me, my parents spent thousands of dollars for one year of high school just so I wouldn’t have to be frightened to go to school. So I could maybe have just one peaceful year of learning.
I did end up having a few individuals bully me at my new school, but most of it took place via Facebook this time. I found pictures of a few girls throwing darts at a party, with the target being my face. By this time, I was achieving more accomplishments and losing weight. While they were busy wasting time and throwing darts, I had already been to Europe twice performing as a singer and dancer. While they called me “goody two shoes,” these classmates of mine were making poor choices like underage drinking and partying all the time. Between these two options, I would much rather be called a “goody two shoes.” I had never done anything to these people but be kind and mind my own business. I was never a loner, I knew I just didn’t want to associate with these inhumane people. Even as the bullying went on, I continued to be myself and took pride in being a morally responsible teenager.
College. I wasn’t one of those people who knew exactly what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I was good at and enjoyed a lot of things, so I couldn’t just simply narrow it down. Therefore, I enrolled at Penn State Altoona so I could figure things out and enjoy the perks of college while also enjoying the safety of my home. As a member of a group called Ivyside Pride, I got to use my talents in singing and dancing. I also got to suffer the verbal abuse of insecure men who took their insecurities out on me. In one song in particular, I had to sing while sitting on a couch. When the director mentioned to the men of the group that they had to carry the couch across the stage, well, you probably know what happened next. Thinking I couldn’t hear, one of the guys made a comment about how much heavier the couch would be and how they would never be able to do it. I was by no means overweight. It was just yet another example of how bullies take out their own frustrations on others. My joy was constantly sucked right out of me no matter where I turned. The bullies probably thought they were destroying me, but they actually gave me the strength to rise above the waters in which they were trying to drown me.
Bullies will be bullies no matter their age. I brutally came face to face with this fact with an adult woman whose bullying was so severe, I had to have an attorney help by sending a cease and desist letter. My Mom even had to get the assistance of social media security to help with removing a hate group towards me that they started. They posted nefarious and malicious comments, trying to get me to retaliate. But I did not. I tried to avoid the group altogether to protect my mental health. Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, my parents were able to get it all stopped.
Another adult bullying encounter I had was after meeting a woman while volunteering for a charitable organization. She was a grown woman with two teenage children who idolized my Mom and I. A person who we helped raise a lot of funding for the organization she was involved with. She became a “friend” and we even helped her kids with various fundraising events of their own too. She was always telling my Mom what a beautiful and amazing young lady she raised. But then, for some reason unknown to us, this woman started attacking me on social media and posting very cruel things. She publicly humiliated me by posting on social media statements about my looks and accomplishments, making comments such as: “oh, well she is only pretty because she wears all that makeup, etc. Her friends were posting nasty comments as well, despite knowing me at all. I was still in my 20s and here I was being bullied by a middle-aged woman in her 40s! I even posted photos of me without makeup so she could see I was not a vain individual but she kept it up for a very long time until my Mom and I just unfriended her and stopped talking altogether…but not before the psychological effects of her words hit hard. She showed her true colors and despite being the younger party, I had to be the bigger person.
Unfortunately, bullying never ends. We, the victims, just have to learn to let our haters be our motivators. If it weren’t for my bullies, I would have never found the courage to solo travel around the world. With each new adventure, I open my mind to new cultures and ways of thinking that allow me to become a better person. I encourage everyone to be globally minded and if you ever get the chance to travel, go. The more a person seeks to learn about the world around them, the more kindness we can spread.
If it weren’t for my bullies, I never would have created my non-profit, Bookworms Against Bullies to help those going through similar struggles. My goal is to educate, inspire, and advocate to bring awareness to the severity of the bullying epidemic in today’s society.
Thanks to my bullies, I learned the power of perseverance and strength. They allowed me to grow into an independent and successful person who no longer cares what others think. When others bully you, their hate is not a reflection of who you are. It is because they don’t like the reflection they see when they look in the mirror.
We are all in this world to support, love, and encourage one another…to lift each other up and to be the light during someone’s darkness. Every single one of you is special. You matter. You are enough. No matter where your journey in life leads you, always remember to be bold. Be brave. Be You.
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