maybe he won't see me...

My heart is pounding.  I am sitting in my eighth grade home room and my knees are shaking.  The bell is about to ring and I have to navigate the halls to get to my second period class without being seen. 

My junior high school was shaped like a cross. There were strict rules about walking all of the the four pods in a counter-clockwise direction...so if my next class happened to be directly to my left, I had to walk a circle around the entire pod to get there. No big deal if I was a normal girl, but I was fat, and a group of ninth grade boys had decided my new name was Jabba the Hut. There were only about three of them that would refer to me as Jabba....two of them would only say it in passing when they were together. One of them, however, would unleash his verbal assault at the top of his lungs for the entire school to hear. His last name rhymed with callous...Coincidence? I think not.

I hated him. His daily abuse cut me like a knife and made me want to die. I couldn't get away from him and the school did nothing to protect me. Bullying was just part of growing up back then. I just had to deal with it.

My elementary school years were far from perfect, but nothing to complain about, either. I was teased from time to time and always picked last when my fellow classmates were choosing teammates for whatever particular sport we were playing in phys ed.  God I hated P.E...with a passion! For the sake of fat kids everywhere, I sure hope teams are picked randomly these days.  I was a chunky girl with an attitude.  I saw my share of the principal's office for mouthing off to teachers and rolling my eyes at them. Oh! I did get sent home in kindergarten for giving a kid a black eye after he took a bite out of my sandwich at lunch! Now that's comedy!

When I began middle school, my parents decided to sign me up for swim team. This had me exercising for at least an hour a few times each week. It was a blessing in many ways, because I slimmed down considerably. I don't remember the weight loss impacting my self-esteem at this time...I do remember never feeling thin enough, and not being able to fit in my favorite brand of clothing. I remember comparing myself to other girls in my classes and feeling as if their size was unattainable for me. That said, sixth and seventh grade were a blur. I noticed some of my friends were starting to "go out" with certain boys...whatever that meant. But I was young for my grade and ill-prepared for such things...that's not to say I didn't have crushes. My weakness was for short Italian boys...I mean ladies, what's not to like?

I had no idea what was to come as I headed into eighth grade. If I'd have known, I would have begged my parents to put me in Catholic school (it was their long-standing threat). I headed to junior high with wide-eyed optimism. I was excited to be at a new school and I had a small handful of friends. I settled into the school year nicely. I ended up making a few new friends that I have since carried with me into adulthood. Just as the year got rolling, I met a boy that I fostered a slight affection for...another Italian. Not knowing any better, the word got around that I was sweet on him. It was the beginning of my undoing. His older brother caught wind, and his pocket of friends somehow thought it would be a great idea to call me Jabba.  Thus was born my hate-hate relationship with the aforementioned 'callous'.

Going to school was sheer agony. My grades suffered and I started having to see a chiropractor weekly for pinched nerves in my neck from stress. My life passed class period-by-class period, and I dreaded the ring of the school bell signaling the end of each. The boy that did the most damage to my self-esteem tormented me the entire school year..and though he moved onto high school the following year, I was forever broken...