In Junior High I was bullied. I fought back with my fists. Sometimes I won sometimes I lost. One day I really lost it mentally. I did not use my fists. I grabbed the miserable prick by the neck. I started pounding his head on the floor. I had enough. I really wanted to hurt him. Fortunately some other students realized I might really hurt him. In the past they were quite content to watch a fist fight. They pulled me off of him before I could have done permanent damage.
This was in South Louisiana in the early sixties. I was from Texas. I was never messed with again. They said, "That Texan is bad when mad."
Bullying is just part of growing up. Girls bully also but rarely physical. They are really vicious when attacking each other with words. Guys will kick the Sierra out of each other and it is over. Sometimes they become friends as they have come to respect each other.
I was always on the small side and got bullied when I was a little kid. I got so mad in third grade, I literally saw red—like a visor coming down across my eyes. I then attacked half the boys in my class and didn’t realize what I was doing until I had slapped a nun. That kinda stopped the bullying, but we still had occasional fights.
In sixth grade, I got in a huge fight with a boy half again my size and we ended up best friends. We all had access to weapons—carried pocket and throwing knives to school and had rifles and shotguns in our cars by high school, but no one thought about killing one another.