There has been a lot of talk in the Guardian recently about experiences of antisocial behaviour at swimming pools.

Ellie Mae O’Hagan started it. She complained about the sexist men who get in her way and think that just because she’s a petite young woman, they must be faster than her.

Sally Goble chimed in to say that it’s not just men making life difficult to female swimmers — everybody likes to dismiss someone who is short, wrinkled and not in their best shape.

They raise good points but, believe me, they have it easy compared to me. Let me tell you why I’m the one to face more discrimination and rudeness than the pair of them.

My experience of a swimming pool is mostly one of overwhelming loneliness. I’m used to being dropped into the deep end. Kids like to pick me up and throw me around. Sometimes they like to throw me like a ball when the lifeguard isn’t looking.

For a few minutes, people acknowledge me. But, inevitably, the bell rings and it’s time for the folks with the wristband of whichever colour to leave. No one remembers to take me with them. So I wait at the bottom of the pool to be discovered. It can be days before I’m found, usually by some curious stranger who comes up to me and pokes me, asking, “What’s this doing here?”

Even if other people are rude to you, at least you have attention; I have the hair, the plasters, the earrings, and the spiders to keep me company.

People don’t respect me. I wonder if it’s because I’m black and I don’t speak much. People should be more accepting. I don’t enjoy being put to one side and neglected. I can’t help the way I was made.

I’m a brick.

— Reynard