The Real

When I was in elementary school I was bullied. To this day I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I was smart and knew big words. Maybe it was because I was different. Who the fuck knows? I’d walk the mile or so home from school with a mob on my back, hurling insults at me like stones in hopes one would strike me down.

It didn’t.

I’d push on sometimes with tears streaming down my face, but I’d push on. This actually went on for years from the same kids. I’d try to fight back occasionally with my own words. Hell, I’d meet some of them at a designated spot after school for a fight so they could get back at me for some supposed wrong. We’d square off like it was High Noon at the OK Corral. Although, I never fought. I’d apologize to keep from getting beaten up.

In middle school, I tried to be a friend to everyone. I did the same in high school and that’s when something strange started to happen. My sister, who is almost six years my junior, started defending me during those walks home. She was a scrappy little thing and a lot of the times the mob didn’t know how to respond to her acerbic barbs or flying fists.

It was all quiet something to behold. She was my staunch defender in the streets but at home? She was my holy terror. We fought constantly as if we were locked in a perpetual cage match. There a few incidents that stand out for me.

One time and for the life of me I can’t remember what we were fighting about, she came after me with a broom. I ran out the house and she followed and chased me down the street. I screamed bloody murder. At some point I’m sure she was laughing at me. We must have been a sight. I’ve always been tall, thick and shaped like a linebacker. Growing up, she was shorter and reed thin. The whole situation must have seemed cartoonish to the onlookers and given that it was the middle of the day there had to be some.

She never caught me by the way in case y’all wanted to know.

Then, there was the time I nearly lost the tip of my finger into a cannister of cheeseballs because she refused to share. Rolls eyes. Some of that COULD be my fault. After all, I tried to snatch the container away from her. Needless to say, I painted those cheeseballs red. No one was getting any.

I decree that a victory. Well, it could be in some alternate universe.

There were times we kind of worked together. Well, that one time really, when somehow my cousin nearly ran through a window. I don’t recall the circumstances. Really, I don’t, but I’m sure none of it was my fault. I just simply moved out of the way as he charged at me. It was all fun and games. Until, it wasn’t. We liked to play rough occasionally. Anyway, my sister was in on the lie. A lie that spectacularly failed mind you, but that’s so not the point.

Many other incidents occurred before and after. For instance, she still teases me about the time I let one of our cousins cut the shit out of my bangs. By the time she was done, it looked like someone had chewed them off.

Yeah, she still laughs about that. In fact, we tease each other about all that stuff. My sister was the first family member I came out to. Her response? “I knew that already.” My sister, who is very straight as far as I know, bought and read my book to support me.

I’m sure at this point as you read this you have to be asking what the fuck is the point of this blog? Well, I’m gonna tell you.

I have people who keep it real in my life. I’ve had real in your face experiences and continue to do so. Part of that is the reason why I write with as much realism as possible. I don’t gloss over the emotion, the heartache, the hard times, etc. because I don’t know how to.

I don’t wanna escape. I like it raw.

Obviously, some of you do too.


KD’s work can be found on Amazon or at Ylva.  Her next book in the Cops and Docs Series, Drawing the Line is now readily available. For more information on KD visit her website



  1. I hear you. Being bullied is awful and I understand what you went through. I’d like to see bullying become a thing of the past. I’m so glad people are standing up to this now. Thank you. 🙏

    Liked by 1 person

  2. My opinion has always been that having a shitty, less than perfect childhood makes you stronger. It enables you to deal with whatever life throws at you as an adult, because you are now used to doing it.

    Liked by 1 person

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