It's funny isn’t it how kids have really good gaydar – I mean I didn’t even know what the word meant, I just knew I was different. But they had a multitude of words for it. Queer, poof, Gaylord, bender, woofter… The list goes on. It’s a wonder I even knew my own name at the end of the day.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me? Whoever came up with that had never been bullied.
And they threw sticks and shoes and pencils and pens and stones and balls and bags and any other inanimate object that wouldn’t cause any lasting damage.
School was fun.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me? Whoever came up with that had never been bullied.
And they threw sticks and shoes and pencils and pens and stones and balls and bags and any other inanimate object that wouldn’t cause any lasting damage.
School was fun.
"Yes I was that kid that sat in the biology lab during lunch, the library during break and sometimes eating my lunch on the bus home so as to not arouse suspicion."
My home life was good – After enduring six hours in school trying to avoid basically everyone I would get a bit of bother from my brothers – it just added to the daily routine.
I would never ask them for any help for two reasons. I didn’t want to embarrass them by having them admit they were my brother – I mean I’m sure people knew, of course they did. It was a catholic school, all the catholic families went there. And secondly I didn’t want to have to witness them walking away from me. Leaving me all alone, with them.
Same with all my cousins it was easier to pretend like nothing was happening and to save them the shame of having to save the family gay boy.
But I wanted them to save me. I wanted them to step in and just stop it. To tell their friends to leave me alone. To rescue me.
Even all my old friends from primary school had abandoned me. Turned against me. No one wanted to be associated with me. Once I was sat in home economics. And one of that old gang had to sit next to me. Half way through the lesson he told me to “Stay away poof” and kicked my stool back.
It hurt. I hit my face on the desk. Got up apologised to the teacher, sat back down, red faced, throbbing, the class laughing as I just continued to write down the ingredients for lamb burgers.
When the lesson finished I was told to “Go and be gay somewhere else”
I would never ask them for any help for two reasons. I didn’t want to embarrass them by having them admit they were my brother – I mean I’m sure people knew, of course they did. It was a catholic school, all the catholic families went there. And secondly I didn’t want to have to witness them walking away from me. Leaving me all alone, with them.
Same with all my cousins it was easier to pretend like nothing was happening and to save them the shame of having to save the family gay boy.
But I wanted them to save me. I wanted them to step in and just stop it. To tell their friends to leave me alone. To rescue me.
Even all my old friends from primary school had abandoned me. Turned against me. No one wanted to be associated with me. Once I was sat in home economics. And one of that old gang had to sit next to me. Half way through the lesson he told me to “Stay away poof” and kicked my stool back.
It hurt. I hit my face on the desk. Got up apologised to the teacher, sat back down, red faced, throbbing, the class laughing as I just continued to write down the ingredients for lamb burgers.
When the lesson finished I was told to “Go and be gay somewhere else”
"I was the butt of everyone’s joke they’d invite me to parties that didn’t exist. To meet them in places where they wouldn’t be I heard so many rumours about myself that I just prayed that nothing got out of the school."
I used every waking moment in that school to just deal with it, so that nothing got back home. So that I didn’t have to admit that I was being bullied for being gay.
Obviously my work suffered and I was falling behind in school. Parents wanted to know why. Why am I thick whist my brothers were flourishing?
Am I on drugs? Sometimes I just wanted to say yes. Maybe then they would just take me out of the school.
I needed some rest, a break. I used to wish, pray they would find someone else to pick on. Then I'd pray to God for them to bully that person instead.
How very un-Christian of me, then the guilt set in. And I'd convince myself that I would have to be the one who was bullied. Because I can take it.
Remember the encyclopaedia Britannica? Those heavy books, with golden pages, clad in soft leather. Do you?
I used to use them to smack myself in the face, to try and break my nose, my cheek bone, my jaw. Just to try and get out of school. But I was built like a brick out house and I didn’t even bruise or draw blood.
Ugh! WHY CANT I JUST DIE!
I’d lie on my top bunk and stare at the swirls in the aertex on the ceiling. Id imagine far off places. Places I could escape to. Maybe in the future. Maybe now?
I’d lay there praying, hoping not to wake up the next morning. So I didn’t have to lie any more.
How was school today boy? I'd always say good.
What did you learn? Oh you know, how to live for another day. How to use my immense size to take the daily barrage of abuse. Imagine I said that…..
Why didn’t I ?
But you are right – I know what you’re thinking. I'm massive. I'm strong. I could’ve just knocked them out.
Yes. I could have. But I didn’t want to. And it was a constant stream of abuse. Like the hyenas attacking a giraffe, coordinated, on point, the laughter, the blows.
Unseen by everyone. Stealth bullying.
Then one night something really weird happened.
There I was doing my usual on my top bunk, staring at the swirls praying for death, wishing to be one of the popular boys.
And a voice came. Well not a voice really, but I heard someone/thing speak to me.
“If you were someone else, who would be you?” “You’re the only person strong enough to do this”
And I slept.
And I woke up.
And I was happy that I did.
I started to think I was special. I smiled more.
It didn’t stop the bullying. If anything the older I got the more poisonous it became.
I fell further behind in my studies and then I had my GCSE’s
No one had any hope for me really, including myself.
First exam – R.E
Obviously my work suffered and I was falling behind in school. Parents wanted to know why. Why am I thick whist my brothers were flourishing?
Am I on drugs? Sometimes I just wanted to say yes. Maybe then they would just take me out of the school.
I needed some rest, a break. I used to wish, pray they would find someone else to pick on. Then I'd pray to God for them to bully that person instead.
How very un-Christian of me, then the guilt set in. And I'd convince myself that I would have to be the one who was bullied. Because I can take it.
Remember the encyclopaedia Britannica? Those heavy books, with golden pages, clad in soft leather. Do you?
I used to use them to smack myself in the face, to try and break my nose, my cheek bone, my jaw. Just to try and get out of school. But I was built like a brick out house and I didn’t even bruise or draw blood.
Ugh! WHY CANT I JUST DIE!
I’d lie on my top bunk and stare at the swirls in the aertex on the ceiling. Id imagine far off places. Places I could escape to. Maybe in the future. Maybe now?
I’d lay there praying, hoping not to wake up the next morning. So I didn’t have to lie any more.
How was school today boy? I'd always say good.
What did you learn? Oh you know, how to live for another day. How to use my immense size to take the daily barrage of abuse. Imagine I said that…..
Why didn’t I ?
But you are right – I know what you’re thinking. I'm massive. I'm strong. I could’ve just knocked them out.
Yes. I could have. But I didn’t want to. And it was a constant stream of abuse. Like the hyenas attacking a giraffe, coordinated, on point, the laughter, the blows.
Unseen by everyone. Stealth bullying.
Then one night something really weird happened.
There I was doing my usual on my top bunk, staring at the swirls praying for death, wishing to be one of the popular boys.
And a voice came. Well not a voice really, but I heard someone/thing speak to me.
“If you were someone else, who would be you?” “You’re the only person strong enough to do this”
And I slept.
And I woke up.
And I was happy that I did.
I started to think I was special. I smiled more.
It didn’t stop the bullying. If anything the older I got the more poisonous it became.
I fell further behind in my studies and then I had my GCSE’s
No one had any hope for me really, including myself.
First exam – R.E
"Sat at my table, and there it was. Scratched in deep, probably by a compass - ROB RYAN IS A POOF.”
I died!
I went red. Everyone was obviously watching me. They all knew what was there, what I was looking at.
So I spent the first 40 mins of a 90 min exam trying to scratch it off, hide it. Without being caught.
I did it. Didn’t finish my exam though – C grade.
And it happened in future exams. I panicked entering every exam. I had forgotten everything I learned, all I could focus on was those words.
I needed to have the desks that had that graffiti. I needed to get rid of it.
Maths. My last exam. By this point I was just withdrawn and exhausted. I found my desk, “ROB RYAN IS A BENDER” scrawled in with a compass, then filled in with tip-ex then coloured in with biro.
I failed Maths and to this day I still don’t have a GCSE in it.
I left secondary school so different to how I joined it. I smiled all the time, I laughed I was optimistic.
Then I was 16, scared, broken, bruised.
I didn’t want to go to college – I couldn’t face another two years of this from a new set of people.
But I went because my parents wanted me to go. Geography, Computer Science and Art.
Ok ok, I struggled to keep up to start off, but I tried. Geography was particularly hard as I sat on my own – Third row, Centre left.
They were there – the popular lot.
In a subject that required a lot of team work – I struggled.
I failed the practical part of the course work as no one invited me to the meeting to present our findings.
Ugh – Why is everything so hard. And why do I keep giving people the benefit of the doubt.
Luckily I only lived 5 minutes away – so no more hiding during breaks. I could just go home.
I survived the first year with just basic bullying.
The second year made me.
I was sat in a computer science lecture. Late afternoon.
And outside I could see the college secretary – A good friend of my parents.
And my head of year – also my geography lecturer.
They were waiting to come in. I got nervous. Why were they there.
The lecture finished and they walked in. I was asked to stay behind.
The previous week I was invited to go out for a few drinks in town – bloody hell, of course I would! I'd never been out before!
That night I lit a cigarette in a club and smoked it.
Someone took pictures.
Those pictures were made into posters.
They had words on them.
The three adults around me now in the lecture room had a selection of these posters with my face on them. Smoking.
I went red. Everyone was obviously watching me. They all knew what was there, what I was looking at.
So I spent the first 40 mins of a 90 min exam trying to scratch it off, hide it. Without being caught.
I did it. Didn’t finish my exam though – C grade.
And it happened in future exams. I panicked entering every exam. I had forgotten everything I learned, all I could focus on was those words.
I needed to have the desks that had that graffiti. I needed to get rid of it.
Maths. My last exam. By this point I was just withdrawn and exhausted. I found my desk, “ROB RYAN IS A BENDER” scrawled in with a compass, then filled in with tip-ex then coloured in with biro.
I failed Maths and to this day I still don’t have a GCSE in it.
I left secondary school so different to how I joined it. I smiled all the time, I laughed I was optimistic.
Then I was 16, scared, broken, bruised.
I didn’t want to go to college – I couldn’t face another two years of this from a new set of people.
But I went because my parents wanted me to go. Geography, Computer Science and Art.
Ok ok, I struggled to keep up to start off, but I tried. Geography was particularly hard as I sat on my own – Third row, Centre left.
They were there – the popular lot.
In a subject that required a lot of team work – I struggled.
I failed the practical part of the course work as no one invited me to the meeting to present our findings.
Ugh – Why is everything so hard. And why do I keep giving people the benefit of the doubt.
Luckily I only lived 5 minutes away – so no more hiding during breaks. I could just go home.
I survived the first year with just basic bullying.
The second year made me.
I was sat in a computer science lecture. Late afternoon.
And outside I could see the college secretary – A good friend of my parents.
And my head of year – also my geography lecturer.
They were waiting to come in. I got nervous. Why were they there.
The lecture finished and they walked in. I was asked to stay behind.
The previous week I was invited to go out for a few drinks in town – bloody hell, of course I would! I'd never been out before!
That night I lit a cigarette in a club and smoked it.
Someone took pictures.
Those pictures were made into posters.
They had words on them.
The three adults around me now in the lecture room had a selection of these posters with my face on them. Smoking.
FAG ANYONE? - ROB RYAN FREE GAY AND HAPPY - WHO WANTS TO BE GAY LIKE ROB - POOF ALERT
The look on their faces was of pure pity.
You know when you say you want the ground to swallow you up. I really wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wanted to run into traffic. I wanted to just die.
They explained that they were all over the college, in every campus building and they are working to get them all down before parents evening.
I was asked if I was ok? I don’t know, am I?
I’m 17 years old and the ridicule of my town.
They sent me home early and told me to come back on Monday.
So I did. I walked through the corridors full of the posters, looking back at me in some sort of weird style of self bullying.
People pointing. Laughing.
It hurts more.
You realise that it doesn’t stop as you get older, that kids aren’t just cruel. That people don’t grow out of anything. That being different is not all it's cracked up to be.
Die.
I got home. I was alone.
Numb. I forget how to function and I just sit on the kitchen floor, looking at the grain in the wood.
You see when someone calls you a name, throws a shoe at your head, spits in your face or kicks you in the gut your body reacts. It puts up a defence. It helps you deal with the abuse. Comforts you.
But this was different. Nobody called me a name. I had no saliva to wipe off my face, no bump on my head to rub better, no doubling over to protect the soft organs.
Nothing.
Just a bit of paper with words.
No reaction on their part to just seeing me. No instinct to bully me.
Pre-meditated. Thought out.
Hatred.
Towards me.
Who am I? What did I do? Why me?
Questions with no answers.
Then I blinked. Got up. Picked up my bag. And walked straight back to college. Geography. Third row, Centre left.
I sat there. Frozen to my seat. Petrified.
The lecturer walked in. Stopped short of my desk. Tapped it. Smiled and walked to her spot at the front of the room.
I heard the rest of the room shuffle in behind me. Muffled whispers, sniggers.
I learned about Volcanoes that day.
Nothing else happened after that. It kinda stopped.
I got asked by a group of old friends who I went to primary and secondary school with to join them in the common room.
I politely declined.
I came out to my parents four years later.
Both of them just asked me, “Are you Gay?”
You know when you say you want the ground to swallow you up. I really wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wanted to run into traffic. I wanted to just die.
They explained that they were all over the college, in every campus building and they are working to get them all down before parents evening.
I was asked if I was ok? I don’t know, am I?
I’m 17 years old and the ridicule of my town.
They sent me home early and told me to come back on Monday.
So I did. I walked through the corridors full of the posters, looking back at me in some sort of weird style of self bullying.
People pointing. Laughing.
It hurts more.
You realise that it doesn’t stop as you get older, that kids aren’t just cruel. That people don’t grow out of anything. That being different is not all it's cracked up to be.
Die.
I got home. I was alone.
Numb. I forget how to function and I just sit on the kitchen floor, looking at the grain in the wood.
You see when someone calls you a name, throws a shoe at your head, spits in your face or kicks you in the gut your body reacts. It puts up a defence. It helps you deal with the abuse. Comforts you.
But this was different. Nobody called me a name. I had no saliva to wipe off my face, no bump on my head to rub better, no doubling over to protect the soft organs.
Nothing.
Just a bit of paper with words.
No reaction on their part to just seeing me. No instinct to bully me.
Pre-meditated. Thought out.
Hatred.
Towards me.
Who am I? What did I do? Why me?
Questions with no answers.
Then I blinked. Got up. Picked up my bag. And walked straight back to college. Geography. Third row, Centre left.
I sat there. Frozen to my seat. Petrified.
The lecturer walked in. Stopped short of my desk. Tapped it. Smiled and walked to her spot at the front of the room.
I heard the rest of the room shuffle in behind me. Muffled whispers, sniggers.
I learned about Volcanoes that day.
Nothing else happened after that. It kinda stopped.
I got asked by a group of old friends who I went to primary and secondary school with to join them in the common room.
I politely declined.
I came out to my parents four years later.
Both of them just asked me, “Are you Gay?”
"There I was. After all those years of me doing everything I could think of to make them hate me so I’d never have to answer this question."
Everything to make them turn their back on me.
Everything and they just loved me more.
How do I say yes? I'm not just answering a simple question.
I was determining the rest of my life.
Changing my relationship with everyone. Forever.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Yes……….
Yes.
In the 7 years of constant bullying that I endured not once did I break down.
And yet, in that one moment I cracked.
The feeling of relief, the constant wanting to be saved. To be rescued. Gone.
There I was. My own hero.
My parents delivered me. With just one question. A question I knew the answer to. I had always known the answer to. One I had spent my life waiting to be asked.
I looked tired. I was tired. My parents made sure I had a good nights sleep and my life didn’t begin, nothing ended.
I continued. Continued being strong, being honest. Trying to do what was right not what was easy.
Nothing I ever had to do was easy. I wasn’t given that option.
Funny isn’t it? The hardest thing I thought I would ever have to do was easy. Just that easy.
And now 13 years later life couldn’t be any different.
If I could go back and change any of it would I?
If I am honest I wouldn’t even know how to. I don’t think it is down to me to change. If anything I’d hope that the people that bullied me would want to go back and change how they treated me.
But hey. They're not my responsibility.
I survived the torment. Many don’t. I was very lucky.
I am still very lucky, I have always and will always think that everything will be okay. And it is. It's more than okay.
Do I wish I had someone to talk to back then? Yes.
I'd like to think that this story will help someone – or show someone who went through it that it wasn’t just them.
Everything and they just loved me more.
How do I say yes? I'm not just answering a simple question.
I was determining the rest of my life.
Changing my relationship with everyone. Forever.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Yes……….
Yes.
In the 7 years of constant bullying that I endured not once did I break down.
And yet, in that one moment I cracked.
The feeling of relief, the constant wanting to be saved. To be rescued. Gone.
There I was. My own hero.
My parents delivered me. With just one question. A question I knew the answer to. I had always known the answer to. One I had spent my life waiting to be asked.
I looked tired. I was tired. My parents made sure I had a good nights sleep and my life didn’t begin, nothing ended.
I continued. Continued being strong, being honest. Trying to do what was right not what was easy.
Nothing I ever had to do was easy. I wasn’t given that option.
Funny isn’t it? The hardest thing I thought I would ever have to do was easy. Just that easy.
And now 13 years later life couldn’t be any different.
If I could go back and change any of it would I?
If I am honest I wouldn’t even know how to. I don’t think it is down to me to change. If anything I’d hope that the people that bullied me would want to go back and change how they treated me.
But hey. They're not my responsibility.
I survived the torment. Many don’t. I was very lucky.
I am still very lucky, I have always and will always think that everything will be okay. And it is. It's more than okay.
Do I wish I had someone to talk to back then? Yes.
I'd like to think that this story will help someone – or show someone who went through it that it wasn’t just them.
"My life now couldn’t be more different, its not perfect, but its mine, I live my life like I lived in college. Follow Rob on Twitter @robryan79
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