This article was first published in these pages in early 1992. The
   writer is known to me, but I have decided to protect his identity. He
   subsequently submitted another article, describing the progress he was
   making, which was published about eighteen months later. A third
   article has just arrived at our offices, and makes most encouraging
   reading.
   
   It has been decided to republish the first two articles prior to
   publishing the most recent 'instalment', so that members who have not
   seen the original texts can get the background to the whole story.
   
   I am the first to admit that while typing in the original article I
   had to take the occasional short break, as I could feel old emotions
   welling up inside me. It was as though I were reading, in parts, my
   own story. Yes, even good old confident, self-assured Phil felt a
   twinge or two around the old battle scars.
   
   Perhaps this series of articles should become a standard text, to be
   included in every teacher training course? It deals with..........
   
                              The Unseen Abuse
                                      
   As tall people we are all familiar with the one-liners we get almost
   every day from strangers and, as adults, we can handle it, but what
   about a child? Mention child abuse and people automatically think of
   sexual and physical abuse, but what about psychological abuse? Oh
   sure, it's awful, but nothing compared to the other two, right? Wrong!
   I believe the "sticks and stones" theory is a serious and dangerous
   misconception. I have experienced both psychological and sexual abuse,
   and they are equally damaging and painful.
   
   My earliest memory is from infant school, when a girl in my class took
   an instant dislike to me, and proceeded to pin me down to the tarmac
   in the playground. Later the same day she pushed me down the
   playground steps. I had been taught not to fight with other children,
   and never to hit girls, so I did nothing, and that was how the
   problems began - it seemed to brand me as being 'fair game' for the
   other children. Also, because the act was committed by a girl against
   a boy, no-one but my parents took it seriously.
   
   Soon after this the sexual abuse began (by a neighbour, NOT a member
   of my family), and so my problems with guilt, weight, and physical
   contact began. I was tall as well as fat, and it was because of my
   weight that I was tormented the most. No matter, the effects were the
   same.
   
   I remember a junior school P.E. session in the gym. It may seem
   ridiculous, but I had a fear of heights (!) so I hated the ropes and
   rope ladders. I always waited until the teacher was looking elsewhere
   and then quickly by-passed them. Unfortunately, on this day, a child
   decided that it would be highly amusing to inform the teacher of my
   unlawful act. The whole session was brought to a standstill, while
   everyone gathered to watch, as the teacher insisted that I climb the
   rope ladder - no-one would be allowed to continue until I reached the
   top. Of course, I didn't. It took me longer than I can remember to
   reach half way, and then I froze. After many mocking comments I burst
   into tears, humiliated in front of everyone. That gave them plenty of
   ammunition, and they used it well.
   
   Football didn't interest me that much either. I didn't even know the
   rules, and had been happy to just kick the ball around. At one point
   in a game I wasn't paying too much attention, and when someone called
   my name I turned around to see the ball hurtling towards my face. My
   instinctive reaction was to protect myself, I did, and someone yelled
   "Handball"! A stream of verbal abuse followed: how could I be so
   stupid? Was I an idiot? Didn't I know anything? There were many other
   comments which had nothing to do with the game either. That wasn't as
   bad as what ensued.
   
   I was surrounded in the playground so that I couldn't escape. They
   started pushing and shoving me around, kicking me from behind,
   chanting names and other things over and over again. I clamped my
   hands over my ears, but I could still hear them. I started lashing out
   at them, but I couldn't see clearly, and they were too fast for me
   anyway. in the end I collapsed into a blubbing heap.
   
   When I moved to secondary school I became even taller, and the abuse
   became purely verbal. teachers left me to my own devices, thinking
   that I was big enough to take care of myself .My parents told me that
   if I ignored the nasty comments the perpetrators would get bored and
   stop - they never did. P.E. lessons continued much as before, the
   teachers being appalled at my lack of interest in, and talent for,
   rugby ("What a waste!") and effectively destroyed my enjoyment of
   swimming with their regime. Team sports were awful, as I was always
   the last to be chosen by a complaining team captain except, of course,
   on the rare occasions we played basketball!
   
   Ironically, I always did well academically, and my school reports
   glowed. I could bask in the praise of my parents and teachers, but
   this only served to alienate me yet further from my peers. Most adults
   saw me as mature, responsible, 'old-head-on-young-shoulders' type, yet
   inside I was confused, insecure, and very, very lonely.
   
   The few friends I had (yes, I did have some), were mostly girls.
   Having grown up in a predominantly female family, I simply found them
   easier to get along with, and as the boys were taking on their macho
   teenage roles, I couldn't relate to them. They accused me of being
   homosexual (though not in such polite terms), they cracked jokes and
   often repeated what I said in the stereotypical gay man's voice.
   
   Over the years I developed the theory that everyone in the world was a
   bastard, who was out to get you in any way that they could - no-one
   could be trusted, and no-one could be called a real friend. I had by
   now become extremely withdrawn, my self-confidence and self-esteem had
   never had the chance to rise above the minus scale, and I turned to
   writing fiction and poetry to try to deal with my emotions.
   
   This was the time when everyone else was discovering the opposite sex,
   and the whole world seemed to revolve around being part of a couple.
   All around me people were holding hands, holding each other, kissing,
   and I felt a new kind of pain. I wanted to be part of this, but how
   could I, when I tensed at a simple hug from a family member? Luckily
   (or unluckily), being fat and at an age when looks and image are all
   important, no-one was interested, so I didn't have to face that
   problem.
   
   Then I met three outgoing ladies, who became good friends, and put me
   on the road to recovery. They helped me to discover and develop the
   'good' person within me, which I hadn't seen before, brought me out of
   my shell to a certain extent, and even got me to attend some school
   discos and parties. My personal growth continued, and I discovered the
   TPC, which has played no mean part in my development. Now my
   self-confidence and self-esteem have increased, I'm learning to take
   my fears and channel them into strengthening my will to succeed,
   instead of allowing them to paralyse me, and I've slimmed down to my
   lowest weight ever! Perhaps most importantly, I'm now facing and
   pushing through my problem with physical contact. It's hard and slow,
   but I have the rest of my life, and one step at a time is quite enough
   for me.
   
   Teachers and parents need to be aware of the effects even a small
   amount of this kind of thing can have on a child. Size has nothing to
   do with the ability to handle situations, and just because there is no
   physical evidence they fail to see the internal destruction going on.
   I played a part in that too: no-one seemed to understand the severity
   of what was happening to me, so I deliberately hid the pain, for fear
   of making a fool of myself. "It's only a bit of name calling, dear.
   Just ignore them, and they'll soon grow tired of it". THEY DON'T!!
   Children can be amazingly cruel sometimes, and never tire of 'making
   fun' of someone, for whatever reason. Meanwhile, their victims grow up
   believing their words and becoming full of self-doubt and self-hate.
   
   At this stage I should point out a couple of things: First, my
   childhood was not all doom and gloom. There were some golden moments.
   Secondly, I don't hate teachers - I have known some wonderful ones!
   
   If anyone out there has been through what I have been through, for any
   reason, please know that you can heal the damage, or stop it, if you
   are still going through it. Be brave, and reach out for help - keep
   reaching until you find it. If they don't understand what you are
   getting so upset about you must keep on, and make them understand -
   the effort has to come from you.
   
   You have the right to happiness, but only one person can truly make
   you happy:....... You.
   
   Thanks for reading.
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