“She’s got a fit body – if you put a paper bag over her head.”
Just a bit of banter. Laugh it off, even though it kicked you in the stomach and made you feel sick. Your friends are all laughing, so it must be ok.
You want to throw something back. You’ve got a split second to think, but the pressure of those laughing faces is stifling your humour. So you let it go.
“Shorty won’t be served.” “Get short arse a stool.” “Are their dwarfs in your family?”
He’s only joking.
Always joking. But you don’t find it funny any more. In fact, you never did. He’s the lad. He’s the prankster of the class and he makes people laugh.
So he must be funny.
But you can’t laugh it off. You must be weird for not getting his bants. You can’t take a joke. Perhaps you’re stuck up like he tells you that you are. You thought he was a mate, but he makes you feel like shit.
“He’s a prick” your other friends tell you. “Just ignore him and he’ll leave it.”
But he doesn’t.
You want to be witty and give the banter back. The trouble is, you’re just not feeling it. His comments aren’t making you feel like a laugh. They aren’t exactly cracking you up.
Just cracking you up inside.
His banter is making you feel like the smallest person in the world. The person he is telling you that you are. You are small and ugly and you can’t see anything else.
You ARE small AND ugly.
“Fuck off, you twat!”
Now you’re an attention seeker for daring to answer back. You’re a loser and you wish you’d kept your mouth shut.
It’s easier that way.
It’s easier for him. It’s easier for you, but you are a victim and you’re carrying that everywhere inside.
“Stop being a victim” your mum tells you. “Stand up to him'” she says.
But you haven’t got the banter, or the will to or the strength. You are usually strong, but not today. Not any day. Not with him.
You never feel strong with him. He’s a bully. You’re not giving it back. You are being targeted. It’s personal.