Emotional Check-in Matters
My Childhood Ordeal with A Bully
There is no easy way to say this but I’m emotionally triggered because the past I thought I left behind has refused to stay buried for seventeen years.
My childhood trauma — I didn’t know it was called this at that time — with a stalking, aggressive bully, dealt a blow to my self-esteem and acceptance of myself as a child, because he made me feel weak, powerless, scared, and subdued to his will.
I didn’t take into cognizance all these feelings at that time because I didn’t know what to call them. All I knew was, that I wanted to avoid him at all costs, feeling so afraid, I would hide away in a corner in school, so he wouldn’t find me and harass me into giving him all I had.
At night, I would pray to be saved from him but it only got worse, because he not only wanted to take my belongings, he started physically abusing me whenever I summoned the courage to report him. He’d hit me in place I couldn’t show the signs, force me to do his homework, and threaten to track me down to my house if I didn’t do as he said.
One day he did track me down, and that broke me because he had invaded the only sanctuary I had, the only place where I felt safe from his torture. My home.
This happened because he was furious that my cousin had the nerve to challenge him at school and beat him up. His ego was bruised and he made me pay for it when he noticed she had stopped coming to school with me.
When my cousin transferred out of my school, I knew things would only get worse, and they did. He’d snatch my bag and hide it in unimaginable places, causing me to search in vain for it while he played football after school, all in a bid to keep me in school so he’d torment me on the way home without anyone noticing.
It was so severe, that I begged my teachers to change my class but they refused, saying it could not be done, I wanted preferential treatment because I couldn’t show proof and my abuse.
I couldn’t talk to my mom about it, because the day he stalked me home, he had presented himself as a friend from school who had come to return my forgotten textbook — a notebook he took and had refused to give back.
Eventually, I moved to a new class, and was so grateful that he wasn’t in it, yet, it didn’t stop his onslaught until a transfer student noticed what was happening between us and stepped in to be my knight in shining armor until we graduated middle school. He was the one who tried to encourage me to face my fears upfront, but I didn’t because I was more comfortable hiding behind his back.
To me, he was my safe space.
After middle school, I felt so alive, thinking I had gotten rid of his hold on me, ready to face the world head-on, and move on from my traumatic past, but there he was in the era of Facebook, stalking my activities online.
Before Facebook, he’d show up unannounced in my neighborhood, watching me from afar, which felt safer than actually having him close, because I had people around me. Later, he moved to continue his stalking on Facebook and eventually got my number from there.
That’s when the nightmare began all over again.
He would take a break for a month or two and begin harassing me with calls, chats, and texts on Facebook. Whenever I blocked him online, he’d get a new number and berate me for blocking him.
When Whatsapp came into play, a new era of stalking began. This time, I had no one to run to, and the more I blocked him online, the more he kept finding ways to reach me. It’s terrifying that it has been seventeen years since 2005, and he still remembers every detail of his assault like it was yesterday.
His most recent call was on 29th June 2022, and the minute I picked up his call, I knew in an instant that he was the one on the line, because I will never forget that rushed, raspy voice even in my sleep.
This time, he had created an illusion in his head that he was entitled to share in whatever success I have made in my life. He said and I quote — that I owe my success to the pieces of training he gave me back in the day — and I should be grateful and ready to pay back in full.
He has a contorted version of what my success is like in his head, and this is someone that I haven’t met in seventeen years. Each time he manages to reach me, I feel the waves of his past ordeal crash into me like I was reliving that phase of my life over again.
I know I have healed from his hurt, and I’m no longer the scared little girl in grade five whom he manipulated, assaulted, and threatened. Yet, I cannot help but wonder what would have been the outcome if someone had listened to me in those moments when I found the courage to make a case against him.
His mark may have had a lasting effect on my life, but I grew to love myself as a person, appreciate my strengths and weaknesses, and encourage my siblings to open up to me emotionally.
My little brother faced the same ordeal in the vicinity we live in when we first moved in and I did not stand for it at all. I’m always on alert to teach and educate these kids on the effects their actions now can have on the mental, and emotional health of the kids they unintentionally bully in their quest to feel superior and not earn the tag of being a weakling.
I encourage my little brother to speak up on issues he’s going through and take my time to study his countenance whenever I’m around him. That has helped me build an open relationship with him as with all my other siblings, and friends.
The nagging question in my head is, why hasn’t anyone told him he needed therapy? Am I the only one who has suffered such cruelty at his hands or are there others? If there are others, how did their lives turn out?
Over the years, I have asked myself one question. Why me? And why does he keep coming back?
He doesn’t affect me as he used to, and his words hold no water where I’m concerned, yet, I wish to understand why he keeps coming back. Why not leave me alone and move on with his life.?
This is an outpouring of a story I have kept hidden for a long time, but receiving that call, made me want to open up and let go of the burden of carrying my past with me, waiting for the other shoe to drop, while hoping it doesn’t drag me under with it.
I’m stronger than he knows, and his perception of who I am is still muddled by the girl I was seventeen years ago. I’m grateful for how far I have come, and my personal growth and acceptance of self in that time.
Growing up, I didn’t understand a lot of things, and my siblings and I had to draw strength from each other, but knowing better now, I’ll never take emotionally checking in with my children — when I begin to have them — for granted.
This story is a personal piece of my past and present turmoil, and it was written in its raw undiluted form.
Hi, I am O.J Ebubeoha, and I write personal articles on healing, mental wellness, self-growth, and personal development. If you’d like to read more of my stories, use the link below to get started.
