Bullying, it's not going to get better, unless you speak up and do something about it.

I doubt I've ever written about my personal life, I don't feel the need to tell strangers much about me. Not when there are fascinating people to tune into online. This changed after reading Rich Mulholland's tweet about his son being bullied at school. It had me thinking about the effect of bullying on me and made me think perhaps his kid would benefit from knowing that he's definitely not alone.

For as long as I can remember I have been a geek, have preferred my own company to that of others and have been interested in subjects others believe to be severely uncool. I played golf as a kid, hated the beach despite living 5 minutes away from it and was the kind of kid who'd be quite happy if you just left him alone to collect coaxial cables, computer parts and books. I was an overweight kid, who liked metal, played computer games, read and played Golf. I am a treasure chest for a bully, burly enough to be a challenge, and geeky enough to be easily alienated.

I didn't think I was weird. I was quite content when I was alone. I watched the Pretender at night and dreamt of the day I'd be able to switch between academic disciplines and go unnoticed, pretending to be whomever I needed to, to fit in. I wanted to sit at the back of the class, be left alone and collect words for my shiny new lexicon

Other kids, well, other kids, they thought I was a fuck up.

I was terrified of going to school. Even today, the smell of chalk, the smell of the purple die used to reproduce worksheets at my junior school, and the mere sight of a school yard make me feel a little sick. Butterflies in my stomach and nausea, are still with me today when I'm anywhere near pedagogic prison.

Why was I terrified?

Every single day, every...single...one..., cruel twisted fuckers would kick me in the shins, tease me for any number of things wrong with me and subject me to playground antics . I still have nightmares about those days at Margate Primary. Christ I wanted those little fucks to be swallowed up by a sandpit monster, or better just be vaporized altogether. No such like, didn't ever think to bring a ray gun to school with me.

As clear as if it were happening to me right this very second, I can remember two kids, one short, the other lanky and tall, ran around a dusty patch on the school grounds, scribbling "Vincent is Fat" in the sand. I stood watching, helpless. I still feel helpless at the thought of being back there, 19 years later.

A typical day at school would see the kid with this angry little kid shif his steel toed shoes in the direction of my shins. I had blue-green bruises on my shins which my uniform socks thankfully hid from other kids. That was tame in comparison to the verbal abuse he used to hurl at me. My cheeks would flush, and my eyes would water and I'd whimper away - desperately wanting to retaliate, with no real compulsion to do so. Coward, I thought and still think.

Upon arriving home after a school day I locked my door and either cried or took my frustration out on my brother and my poor mother. I cannot count how many times I must have said "I hate you" or how many times I lost my temper and used my strength on the wrong people - the people closest to me. My brother can definitely recount stories of me chasing him, pinning him down and getting so angry with him that I thought I might kill him. We live apart now, but we're close and that's a miracle.

The schoolyard torment didn't stop at primary school. Instead it matured and wisened up to my disaffected stare which I had learned to produce at the worst of times. The "grin and bare it" stare meant nothing at high school. The kids were stronger, and were equipped with new taunts, "fucks", "shits" and "cunts". In addition the social alienation became more obvious (thankfully I had a small group of good friends), and the bullying more fierce. The taunts hurt more, as I had more to lose. This was the time a young guy was meant to impress his peers and young girls. Not that easy when your peers refer to you as "fat fuck", which became my new moniker which was different to the nicknames other kids received.

Whilst I could defend myself with my wit, I was defeated by their volume, their social status, the weightier punches and random spear tackles...

I didn't want to go to school, I didn't want to stand out - too proud to fail, but also too afraid of the social repercussions of scholastic success.

What a total fuck up!

I maintained average marks amongst average people so as to avoid sticking my neck out. I went home, shut the door, put on Offspring or Metallica whom I'd just grown fond of, and literally shook with anger. I didn't ask myself, "why me", I knew I deserved it, believed it. Still sometimes find myself feeling I still do.

I was never suicidal, but I did consider giving up on social interaction forever. Went weeks, quite content by myself, and spent holidays at home, happy and in control.

At varsity, whilst I'd come out of my shell a bit I stayed quiet in lecture halls. Bowed out of a year at Rhodes because I did not like being out of my comfort zone, far away from home, amongst people who looked like the kids who fucked up the last 12 years of my life, in a residence, no escape and no time alone. No control. I spent a month by myself in my room, coming out now and again to chat to the few friends I'd made and was at my happiest behind the desk at Rhodes Music Radio, a face fit for radio and a mouth fit for the gutter. Sadly my view of the Rhodents was framed by my past not by their actions.

I moved to Durban, went to Varsity College, for spoilt kids - I didn't fit in because the courses weren't challenging and moved to UKZN. It was awesome! I could return to my apartment after varsity and write, read and thoroughly immerse myself in academia - four years, living by myself, no outsiders and in control! I learned a lot about myself in isolation and found myself fascinated by Sociology.

It was only in my honours year that I met Pete, who is still a friend of mine (I'm a shit friend Pete I know), who due to his social skills, forced me to go out and socialise. Hell I even summoned up the courage to lecture, come out of my shell and meet Talita, my fiance who has not run away screaming yet, despite my past.

A typical story I know, but here's what you need to know if you're being bullied. It didn't stop because I didn't admit I had a massive problem, and didn't want anyone to know about it.

If you met me today you'd swear I was quite confidant. I am able to articulate myself and can be witty at times, and yet here's the trick, I am shy, I have control issues and I cannot bring myself to believe I'm any good at what I do. I don't participate in social sports because I'm afraid of the social interactions post-game. I memorise everything people say to me, everything I've said to them and replay and redo my lines, at times to cut out my mean streak and at times to replay a version of my life in which I'm confidant and don't care what you think. I still think of food as comfort, not fuel and I still cannot bring myself to let go, and lose control of a situation so as to laugh when I'm meant to, or just sit back and enjoy being around others.

To this day I get anxious to the point of nausea, and retreat when I'm told I'm going out to a social event where people I don't know might be there. If I don't have some form of control, or previous information about the audience I'm about to don my social mask for, then I'm not brave enough to address them.

To this day people still tease me, expecting me to somehow laugh and not internalise it like I did when I was a kid. Unlike then, I now write people off completely and don't ever speak to them nor entertain the thought of speaking to them again. A fairly unhealthy social strategy.

To this day I don't know how to show anyone close to me how I feel about them, because I have no idea how to process emotion properly. If you're close to me you'll know I express myself via text messages, emails or SMSs - because I can say what I mean, but can't see you while I say it.

In addition to my struggles with positive emotion, I have no idea how to express my anger or frustration - instead I'll crack a joke or change conversation very quickly. I buried anger deep down; fear makes you weak, and anger makes you vulnerable.

To this day I cannot make eye contact with people and am constantly asked if I'm listening, angry or day dreaming. I'm not, I just prefer not to know you're looking directly at me.

There are many more issues I'm left with, some I'm only comfortable dealing with myself, but I'm not here to be told "that sucks, I'm sorry", instead I want to tell you, your son, or daughter that if they're being bullied, that not only does it get better, you grow and become better. My only warning and concern with the "it gets better" motto is that you need to sort your situation out right now. Parents you need to understand kinds are too vulnerable as pre-teens and teens to cope with excessive physical and verbal abuse - you need to meet the problem head on the minute it manifests not reassure your kid that it'll be OK 5, 10 or 20 years from now.

I cannot advise you on the best strategy to solve your, or your child's situation. What you can and must do, is be honest with yourself if you're a kid being bullied and ask for help if it grows too much to handle. If you're a parent, follow my parent's lead, watch for the signs of bullying and make a point of talking about the issue.

I cannot help you if you think bullying is a rite of passage, something to take on the chin and face up to. It's not.

I am 27 and I'm still dealing with it, because it didn't get better, I just developed methods to cope with it. If you're being bullied speak up, and if your kid is being bullied address it now, it's not a phase, it's a problem which can be resolved by intervening.

Sometimes being brave means admitting you were never brave at all.

Just in case you're wondering, my parents were awesome. I have no idea how they coped with my brother and I.