Eventually I decided my best hope was to pretend I had drowned and stop moving. That worked.<\/p>\n
When I was maybe 10, in a school bathroom, a small group surrounded and goaded me into a hopeless fight. I had my head repeatedly rammed into a sink, where the taps cut both my eyebrows open till blood spluttered down my face.<\/p>\n
What I recall the most was desperately<\/i> wanting to cover myself so no-one would notice. I guess I wanted to fit in. When my mother collected me at the end of the day, I literally had my hands covering my bloodied face.<\/p>\n
For my entire childhood I pretty much felt continually like most of the outside world wanted me dead – or at least, found me a curious novelty for their own amusement. Like an ant, having his legs picked off under a magnifying glass.<\/p>\n
And with hindsight, I can see why. I was a red haired, half-American scrawny little smartarse, with no natural social or sporting skills and a readily provoked temper. My natural comfort zone was learning things – which made school a cakewalk, but made the playground a hellhole.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m sure bullying affects everyone differently. But for me, it grew to feel like a thousand furious suns burning in my chest. A source of immense anguish, and immense motivation. In a word: fury<\/i>.<\/p>\n
As I grew older, life didn\u2019t improve much. Physical bullying subsided, but physical bullying isn\u2019t the worst. I recall one of the more popular ladies at school pronouncing to the room: \u201cImagine the poor girl who has to lose her virginity to him<\/i>\u201d.<\/p>\n
When you yourself are led to believe such things, life can be dark indeed.<\/p>\n
My inner fury had some perks though. When I said I had motivation, I wasn\u2019t kidding. Between the ages of 16 \u2212 17 I coded a million lines of software by myself. I taught myself graphic design, painting, the piano. There were things – incredible things – that I learned I could do, but the divide between that and what the rest of the world seemed to think about me had never been so wide.<\/p>\n
In my first year at University, I lived in shared accommodation with a group of 6 guys, and above us 6 girls. Although I wasn\u2019t the easiest fit into the group, for the first time, I felt like I belonged to a small circle of friends.<\/p>\n
Near the end of our first year together, the guys took me out clubbing, and got me apocalyptically drunk. On purpose, as it turns out. Once I was in a mellow stupor they decided to tell me they\u2019d found a house they wanted to share together next term, but they didn\u2019t want me in it.<\/p>\n
Well. The great thing about low points is they\u2019re invariably followed by moving up<\/i>.<\/p>\n
As the years rolled by a couple of great things happened. I started to figure people out. I realised there were books that explain how people work<\/i> – which for someone who had always struggled with such things was a revelation.<\/p>\n
I also started a software business. Suddenly my unusual skills and work ethic were rare and precious assets<\/i>. Who knew?<\/p>\n
Running a business forced me to confront things I was afraid to do, like sell to strangers. I discovered that – far from being a socially inept wallflower I actually loved<\/i> selling, and adored<\/i> public speaking. The real world isn\u2019t fair either, but it\u2019s a much fairer game to play than the playground. And the rewards are greater than the fleeting admiration of your peers.<\/p>\n
In the decade that followed, I discovered love, happiness, self-worth and prosperity all by myself. The fury which brought me here did not fade, but it lost nearly all of its bitterness. It simply left me stronger.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m Facebook friends today with people who bloodied my nose at school. But who they are and what they did doesn\u2019t bother me in the slightest.<\/p>\n
They\u2019re not the same person anymore. And neither am I.<\/p>\n
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Ironically, all the cool kids now follow me on <\/i>Twitter<\/i><\/a><\/span> or <\/i>Facebook<\/i><\/a><\/span>. Read more of me three times a week at <\/i>oliveremberton.com<\/i><\/a><\/span><\/p>\n