I have a disease. A disease that many people have and never want to admit they have it. This disease was not introduced to me by doctors, but by three men who have had this sickness and survived. It’s called itcan’thappentomeism. It’s when people believe they can go through life believing nothing bad can happen to them. I have gotten help, and I am slowly recovering. For others though, they have lost their lives. So here is my story how I survived and so can anyone else.

I have walked down the same high school hallways for the past three years. I have stayed in the shadows where no one can see me, and I felt safe. No one bothered me, and I didn’t bother them. It was perfectly fine with me. Since the beginning of my junior year I have disliked my ninth period class. The freshman girls think they run the school like prom queens, but little do they know that they are so small I could squish them with my foot. The boys in there couldn’t learn anything, if their lives depended on it. They find people who make farting noises cool and turn them into their new best friend. I however, am a misfit in this class, and I do my best to hide like I have always been doing.

The class clown was also the guy that everyone in the class had to be on the good side of in order to survive. I happen to sit behind him, which at the time was good. Nobody bothered me, and he wouldn’t let them. I had thought I was in the clearing, and that this was my safe card for the rest of the year. I had spoken to soon, because you see this is when the disease took over me.

I was paying attention to my teacher like I always do when the boy next to the class clown turned around and looked at me. I look down and gave him a puzzling look. What did I do? He turned around and I just brushed it off. Maybe he was looking at the homework board behind me? There was ten minutes in the period left and we had to work on classwork. I stare at my paper when I overheard the class clown and his friend talking.
“Did you see that?” says the boy.
“Yeah man, she must have been staring at you the whole period,” says the class clown.
“She was really creepy, like I have never seen anyone creep that hard before,” says the boy.
“Yeah I know right, watch tomorrow I will watch her again and I am going to hit your arm every time she stares, “class clown laughs, “You’re going to have a big red mark on your arm.”

They laugh together and I cringe in my seat. What were they talking about? About me? Is that who they were talking about? I was soon going to have my answer.
The class clown turns his body around to face me, “Look at her now, pretending to do her work. She’s acting like she can’t hear us.”
The boy laughs, “Yeah, she is trying so hard not to look up and stare at us.”

Again they laugh, and now I knew they were talking about me because I was the only girl in the row that was near them. How could they say that? Me a creep? I would never. Maybe they mistook me for starring at the teacher. The boy’s head is always in the way and the teacher stands in front of him all the time. Could that be what they mean? My chest started to squeeze tight and I started to sweat. I just wanted to leave I, and I desperately wanted out. Their laughter rang in my ears over and over, and I was uncomfortable. My body started to heat up and I wanted to cry. Why is this happening?

The bell rings and I sit there for a moment processing what just happened. After I left, I went to the locker room and just sat there again in a daze. I could not understand why they picked on me. I didn’t do anything. I never knew I could ever feel that sick over something that seemed so small. Gym class, I don’t even remember. I only kept playing that scene in my head over and over again. After school, I went and saw my previous English teacher. She knew from the moment I walked in that something was wrong. In the beginning, I thought I was making too much of it, and I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I told my teacher just so I can get it off my chest, and I knew I could trust her. She helped me take my case to a counselor who specialized in bullying. I told her the whole story, and how she didn’t have to worry about it. I didn’t see it as a big threat, but she asked me a very important question.
“Do you feel scared going into class, Angela?”
“Yes,” I replied, “terrified.”
“You should never feel that way going into a classroom, so this is a problem.”

She told me to go to class the next day and report back if anything happened. The next day I wasn’t even three minutes into class and the class clown made a nasty comment to me and I ignored him. He gets annoyed by the fact that I didn’t react so he leans over to his friend, and said a sexual comment about me and they laughed. I couldn’t believe it, it was another blow that made me weaker. For the rest of the period I tried my best to not be the subject of their conversation. I later reported what they said and now it was a bigger problem, it was now sexual harassment.

To make a long story short neither of the boys got in trouble. They both said they never did that, and there were no other witnesses, so there was nothing the counselor could do. They were left off with a warning though, and the teacher moved my seat. They haven’t bothered me since, but I know they were angry I told. So this is a message to those who don’t think they can find help for this sickness. I found it, and I got help. Also, for those who read my story and say I am making a big deal out of nothing, I would have said the same thing. Now though, I know what it is like to be hurt, even by a small thing like this. You don’t know what this is like, until it happens to you. By then, it might be too late to save a life that needed help so desperately. So get help and be a survivor like me.