In 5th grade, I went to sit down at an octagon table for lunch, and seven classmates in synchronized fashion got up and sat elsewhere. I was bullied for years prior to this, but it continuously got worse.

I recognized I had a weight problem when I was younger. The reason I could understand it was a problem was because other students harassed me all throughout my childhood about it. I'd hear insults like "You're a fat piece of shit" or "Of course you'd pack that big of a lunch, huh?". It was a vicious cycle where all I had was myself, books, and food to cope. The more people made fun of me, the more I ate.

Me being overweight was definitely a popular topic for discussion, especially when I was 10. During that year, 9/11 occurred, and the students had a load of questions. In the first week, there were survivors caught under the rubble of the Twin Towers, and my classmates were wondering why. My teacher responded with "Our bodies store fat from foods we eat in case a situation like this happens. Like, if hypothetically the school were to crash down, and we were caught under the rubble, James would have the greatest chance of survival." She spun a tragedy into a joke, and the entire class of 30 were laughing at my expense. Situations like this were incredibly common, and some even incited violence.

I was bullied by someone who also had the tendency to be bullied himself. Each situation escalated to the point where laughter took the limelight off of him. Honestly, I don't blame him. If I could have had the opportunity to do the same, I would have. There's not too many people out there that enjoy being an outcast. Insulting me was the best route for him to be accepted.

Years of being ridiculed caused me to react in violent fashion, and I reacted toward the person that dealt with the same type of ridicule as I did. They made fun of the holes in his clothes, hygiene, and even his crooked glasses. When being bullied reaches its peak, it doesn't matter what the back story is. I kept punching, and kicking, and letting years of his ridicule and everyone else's go to rest. Many bruises and cuts later, my anger subsided, and I had to feel guilty of the aftermath.

We both were being escorted to the principal's office, and everyone was congratulating me on a job well done. Honestly, part of me was shocked over the fact that it took pummeling someone to change their perspective on me. It was sad, and still is sad, that violence was a temporary answer.

Later that same day, I landed myself in a hospital because of a bike accident I had. When I got home, there was only one call I received, and it was the kid I fought, wondering if I was okay. I knew at that moment, violence wasn't an answer for any of my problems.

Violence isn't the answer because of back stories we might not know about a person. He had a back story that included a father who molested his sister in the middle of the night, and forced him to watch pornographic films at the age of 10. His back story included that of poverty, and a mom who had to work overtime to provide for the family while the father was in jail for his malicious acts. His back story included being human, and just wanting to fit in. All it took was one phone call to prove that he was human, and not my enemy. I just wish I realized it sooner.