Accusations.

If you see me now you might think I was very chatty and extremely popular growing up, but that doesn’t even come close to describing my childhood.

Before my age hit the double digits, I was indeed very chatty and bubbly, but then primary school happened.

Slowly my classmates became less fun and accepting and more critical and cruel, cliques were starting to form and I found myself casted aside.

From initially loving school I came to loath it, I hated getting up in the morning knowing very well that the cycle of bullying and verbal/physical abuse was awaiting me. I gradually stopped trying to chat or make friends, I stopped participating in class and I would sit there like a silent statue never raising my hand to answer.

To make things worse, the bullying came from my teachers the same, if not sometimes more, than my classmates.

Bullying and abuse come in all kinds of forms, but the one form that still irks me to date is accusation. I hate being accused of something I, and in most instances, the accuser know I didn’t do but rather accuse me with it for one cruel reason or the other.

Life taught me that some people are truly made of stone, no remorse or regret. However, the silver linings to the story is I learned to always give people the benefit of the doubt.

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Accusations.

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