Hello, and thanks for taking the interest in hearing about my story. My name is Isaac Brown, I'm 17 and I am a victim. I grew up in a small town in South Carolina. I didn't really fit in as a younger kid. I had one close friend and that was it. All the way up into 5th grade, I was bullied daily. I had been picked on by other students, both physically and mentally. I couldn't really stand up for myself, because at that point in time, I was small and a little on the chubby side. There was this one kid, I don't even remember his name, but he would shove me against walls, punch me all over, try and shove me into toilets, and would use all kinds of words against me. When I was 7, I was diagnosed with diabetes. This, among other problems, just gave the other students more stuff to pick on me about. Eventually though, the time came that I had to leave. I ended up moving 20 miles down the road to another small town in the 5th grade. It wasn't until middle school that I started fitting in. Unfortunately in middle school, with being more noticed, the bullying got worse. Towards the end of my 6th grade year, I ended up bringing a knife to school because I have had enough. I wasn't planing on hurting anyone, I had just wanted to prove that I'm nobody's punching bag. I was expelled the rest of that year and the case with the state lasted for about 4 years before it dropped. I came back after my expulsion to go into 7th grade. Throughout the year, I had tarted having suicidal thoughts and ended up slitting my wrists. 8th grade was probably the worst two years for bullying. I had been so out of focus and lost in life because of bullying (and other issues that I'll get to later). I ended up having to repeat the 8th grade because I couldn't focus in school. Depression from traumatizing events really played a big part in my failure. In-between my two eighth grade years during the summer, I was staying with my dad in Illinois. I had never really known him up until that point. My mother was a drug addict and didn't really like letting me see him. It was then that the truth came out about my life. For about ten years of my life (off and on.) I had been repeatedly raped and beaten by my older step-brother. No one had then believed me except for my dad and Half-brother, Robert. We wasn't planning on going back to South Carolina at that point, which we ended up doing anyways. I get back, and now that everyone knows, I'm even more of an outcast because my depression caused me to act different. I dressed different from everyone else. There was a vibe about me that made people angry. I was constantly told to kill myself, that I was a freak, someone who deserved to die, a faggot and every other word you could think of, and then more you can't. By the end of my second eighth grade year, I had already attempted suicide twice. My mother warned me several times about my cutting and had constantly threatened to send me to the hospital. Eventually I sat down with her and talked about NEEDING to go to the hospital because I was about ready to end it. Then, I was rushed to the Medical University of South Carolina. They have a unit there called the "2-north" program. I was there for about two weeks, I believe. I didn't really take full advantage of the opportunity put in front of me and once I was out, I started cutting and taking drugs again. I moved up to my dads about halfway through the year. There, I was sometimes going to school. Half the time, I'd just skip and go out to do drugs with my "friends". I fit in with the misfits, pretty much. No one really messed with me though because I had strong gang affiliations. I stopped cutting and ended up getting tattoos instead. I was only 15 and had 6 different tattoos. For the next two years, it was constantly running around and moving state-to-state trying to start over and be you know, normal. I eventually tried to kill myself again, but once I woke up in the hospital, I realized what I had been doing was wrong. It was pointless. I set out to try and help those who was in similar situations. I didn't really know about the movie "Bully" until this morning. I haven't slept yet because I'm nocturnal and my depression keeps me up. After watching the movie, I decided I wanted to join the movement. I want to help people. I want people to know my story and know that it's okay. Those feeling you get when you've been bullied are natural. Doesn't make them okay. I know that together, we CAN and WILL make a difference.
By writing some words below, you are showing your support and letting everyone know they're not alone.
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