I remember the day in the fifth grade where I told a teacher "I want to kill myself". She grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to the principal's office, as if I had done something horribly wrong. All I knew at that age was that no one cared about me.

I got to that point from various assults from cruel children. The one I remember most was when I was shoved into a bathroom stall from the worst bully, Lorena, she locked the door so I couldn't run out, pushed me into the corner, and punched my eye. I spent a week in the hospital, nearly gone blind in my left eye. I was greeted back at school by insults and anger that I was back.

I remember writing a story for a weekly online newspaper in my notebook. I worked on it everyday, confident that I would finish it and get to be published in that newspaper that I longed to be in so dearly. Before I could finish, that same girl, Lorena, stole my notebook and ripped the pages to shreds, drenching the pieces in water right before my eyes. I was crying of course, and sent home yet again for "not behaving myself" by sobbing.

For the first time ever, my mom noticed one of the scars that I tried so badly to tell her about; a long bloody scrape on my leg from a pencil that Lorena punctured my skin with. My mom went to the teacher the next day to show the scar. He said something along the lines of "yeah, that's pretty bad". Nothing else was done. It's been six years, and that scar is still visible.

My favorite place in the entire school was the counselor's office. The school counselor was the only one not blind to my pain. Every recess, while the other kids played on the swings and hung out with friends that I wished to have, I was in the office building ships out of Legos. One day, I wanted to be brave and explore the playground for the first time in a while, but the counselor knew what was best for me and did not allow me to leave. He knew that the children were cruel and the school system was weak.

Now I am sixteen, and suffer from mental problems and flashbacks to bullying. When I tell my story to others, I cry in the room I speak in. I see others simply watch me, oblivious to the pain that victims go through. Then I see tears shed from others as well, knowing that the feeling is mutual.

People still bully me to this day due to acting childish. What they don't know is that I became this way due to others performing more violent acts of what they are doing to me. I feel as though I missed out on the times to be a child, so I must make up for it by acting like a child. People tell me to just get over it and move on. They haven't experienced the pain.

If only anti-bullying was more popular when I was ten, then maybe I wouldn't have turned out this way. But I feel that this has happened for a reason. I went through this pain to let the others going through this know that they are not alone. If you are going through this abuse known as bullying, please know that you are not alone. The sad truth is that most schools still cannot stop these bullies no matter what you do, but you can still be strong like I did. I put up with the bullying through all years, and stayed strong.

It gets better. I promise.