I was bullied when I was little. I hate that word, though. "Bullying" comes with it's own stereotype. I was picked on, called names like "b****," and shoved around by this one kid. I was like 9. I got help, and it got better. He still tries to insult and belittle me, but I don't let it bother me. Do you know why?

Because I don't want him to have any satisfaction.

If I wanted to, I could react, and I could get pissed off, and I could go tell a teacher, but he thrives on attention. So why let him be happy by hurting me? It doesn't bother me anymore because I don't care what he thinks. There's a poem by Dr. Seuss that I really like that sums up how bullying should be treated.

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." If someone doesn't like who you are, and you're not hurting others, then their opinion doesn't matter. 

It isn't always that simple, I know. A lot of the times it isn't. But that's my story, and I'm always available to talk. I'm on tumblr or email.