This story just breaks my heart.
In fact, it makes me sick.
A fifteen year old girl from Ireland, Phoebe Prince, moved to my state of Massachusetts and was relentlessly bullied, picked on, verbally abused, harassed and degraded on a daily basis. She believed that her only option was to end her life; that it was her only escape. No one stood up for her. Not even the teachers.
On January 14th, 2010 she hanged herself in her bedroom closet, after a particularly brutal day of being tormented by her abusers.
When I wrote my books, I had to really dig deep and combine the worst of everyone I've ever known to make my *mean girl* characters. I needed to make Kate Endicott so despicable, that no one could ever possibly like or identify with her. What frightens and angers me is that there are real people out there worse than Kate Endicott; worse than my most evil fictional character. Truth really is scarier than fiction.
I am angry for Phoebe. I blame the teens who bullied her. I blame the parents of the bullies. I blame the educators who knew what was going on and turned a blind eye.
How can we, as a society, let this happen? How can we let people harass each other to the point where they feel there is no other option but to end their own lives? Why do we glorify celebrities who are mean and vindictive--young women like Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton -- who make putting each other down into a sport? Popular reality shows like the Real Housewives, The Hills, and Tinsley Mortimer's new show High Society all highlight women and girls at their very worst. On a weekly basis in top shows (even American Idol!), people are getting verbally trashed, mocked, teased and berated, and we wonder why teens think it's okay to do the same.
We are creating a culture of "mean people." The nastier you are, the more you get noticed. The bigger the bully, the bigger the following. The teen and pre-teen years are difficult enough to get through on their own. But when you add Facebook and blogs and MySpace and IMs and YouTube, you are turning one individual's personal battles into a voyeuristic, masochistic nightmare for the world to see. I remember things that embarrassed me in high school: a catty comment from a group of girls, an unrequited crush, being teased by some teen-aged boys. But then, like most high school "nightmares," they would blow over, like they always had in the past.
Now, kids are forced to relive their worst moments again and again on YouTube or pictures that get IM-ed throughout the Web. The rumors about their sexuality or their embarrassing moments are not just fodder for the local bullies, but now their embarrassment is out there for the world to see and to judge. When I was in high school and college, the good days were exhilarating; the bad days were horrendous. But for most of us, the bad stuff stopped at our front door. We could leave the teasing, the rumors, the cattiness at school and regroup and gather our strength at home. Now the bullying has become relentless. With Facebook and blogs and emails, there is no escape from the harassment. It has become all-encompassing.
If I had a larger platform, I would make the bullies wear the scarlet letters. I think they should be the ones humiliated on a daily basis. I would make it *uncool* to hurt other peoples' feelings and for the popular kids to be popular because they are actually nice. It goes without saying that for the most part, popular kids are often the cruelest. The *in-crowd* is powerful because they rule with fear. It's the same today as it was ten, twenty, fifty years ago. But the difference now is that teens feel like they have nowhere left to turn. We are reminded again and again that things posted to the Internet are out there forever for the world to see. How scary is that? Especially for teenagers who just want to get through their awkward stages and begin living their lives. What if they think that their lives will be forever tainted? What if the bullies know this and feed off of it?
I am going to try to get a group of young adult authors together to make a stand against this type of bullying, so that someone like Phoebe Prince never has to feel that she is alone, ever. So that she or he never has to think that suicide is the only option; the only way to escape the incessant bullying and meanness.
I am posting this essay written by Phoebe Prince that someone forwarded to me, because I think that her words are powerful. Her life was one that was cut too short. She was never given the opportunity to be heard.
“Phoebe’s death on Jan. 14 followed a torturous day for her, in which she was subjected to verbal harassment and threatened physical abuse,” District Attorney Scheibel said.
Yesterday, nine teens were hit with charges in connection with the case.
Mind Over Matter, Value Essay
Phoebe Prince
Mr. B-G
Block E
15/10/09
Mind Over Matter
Where have today’s values gone? Everyone is so preoccupied with their electronic gadgets to appreciate simple moments like the first snow fall of winter or hearing the words I love you for the very first time. We live in an impersonal electronic society, is that what our values have gone to? We no longer appreciate simple conversations now that we have twitter and face-book. Personally I can’t believe that reading an email would have the same effect as speaking with someone face to face, making a moment.
I get into my pink fluffy onesie my feet tingle as they rub off the soft cushioned fabric. I head downstairs into the kitchen. The walls our heath green with various paintings of vegetables. I live in an old country house with a barn door and all the furnishings to boot. My fathers sitting at the dining table reading a thriller type novel as per usual with a half glass full of white wine next to him. The fire is roaring and the smell of hydrangea’s wafts through the air. I curl up on a chair adjacent from my father making sure to be cosily tucked in near the fire. He puts down his book and says, “Now what is on your mind tonight my dear?” From there on we start a heated debate about almost anything. Our conversations range from sex, drugs and rock and roll to matters of great importance such as ancient religions, politics and criminal justice. No subject is off limits with me and my father.
I click in my glossy silver i-pod into my speakers. I turn up the volume full blast, the walls vibrate from the sound of System of a Down screaming out “Chop Suey”. I’m sitting in my room on my mattress (I broke my bed one evening whilst jumping on it). My walls are covered with doodles, posters, lyrics and memories. I have the lyrics to “I love college” by Asher Roth printed on my walls. I start off by listening to some Arctic Monkeys, they always get me in a good mood. My mix soon turns into some darker music. My i-pod reflects me inside throughout. Its my constant companion. Soon my boyfriend rings me up, “Phoebe c’mon man lets go for a spin, bring your i-pod.” I get into his Civic and he starts driving. The windows are down and the air is blowing through my hair, I plug my i-pod in and the Alex Kidd starts pumping. Alex Kidd is by far my favourite DJ. The words “ecstasy” are throbbing in my ears. Leem starts speeding up we’re going well over sixty miles an hour. We change the music to some Chemical Brothers and The Avalanches. He drops me outside the farm across the road from my house. I now put on “Sandiego Song” by the Coronas.
I value both my i-pod and my nightly conversations with my daddy for both different yet similar reasons. My i-pod is stimulating to my body as I can’t help but move along to the beat, it is also the soundtrack of my life, I have a song for every moment and mood of my day. Without it I would be lost. Its also therapeutic for me I find it easy to relate to the lyrics in music and let them wash away any emotion I’m feeling. As for my nightly conversations with my daddy I treasure them dearly they stimulate my mind to no end, he has increased my knowledge of different dialects, cultures, religions and politics. I learn about the world around me even though I don’t leave my kitchen table.
Both my i-pod and my conversations with my daddy make me think, one with its thoughtful lyrics that I relate to and helps me deal with my own personal problems. My nightly conversations make me think about other people and the world that I’m in. I become more emotionally and intellectually mature through both these activities. Although I still value such items that don’t have such significant effects on me. Sometimes I love just walking around in my favourite heels and feeling like the most confident girl in the world, but mostly I just like sitting back and discussing politics with my dad.
This story just breaks my heart. 
