My story concerning bullying is one that has lasted five years, and continues to this day. The form is ever changing, but the pain is the same.

      When I was in elementary school, primarily beginning in fourth grade, I was called weird, different, and just annoying. I didn't have many friends, but I had one best friend. She turned against me in times like this, sometimes even joining in. I didn't know what to do, so I just went along with it. I was so naive. I thought that since she was my friend she was just joking, and I shouldn't let it hurt me. It did.

      When I began sixth grade and entered middle school, where everyone morphed into a clique, I didn't fit in anywhere. I was a complete outcast. I was so lonely that year. I was called a loser and a freak, and a spaz due to a medical condition that makes me jolt, like when you get a shiver up your spine and you shudder. I still deal with that today, though it doesn't get much direct attention. The abuse escalated from there.

      When I was twelve and in seventh grade, I still didn't fit in or have many friends, but the bullying was worse than what I had endured before. I had a teacher that bullied me. She would make rude comments to me and embarrass me in front of the class. They would all laugh, and I would have to sit there and take it. She was in authority, what could I do? I told my parents, but they were sure I was overreacting and discouraged telling any administrators, so I didn't. When the year ended I was thankful to leave. Little did I know the following year would be greater pain, one to a degree I couldn't foresee. It got to the worst it had ever been, probably greater than most could even slightly imagine.

      In eighth grade, I was tortured. Relentlessly. There was a group of popular girls that would criticize my every action to my face, demand things of me, put me down. There was another group of girls, ghetto girls, that would push me around in the bathrooms and laugh when I didn't fight back, leaving me with scratches, bruises, and bloody noses and lips. I was even threatened to be killed on more than one occasion. And then, there was a boy. One boy that inflicted the worst emotional pain. He wouldn't just call me ugly, fat, and a fake like the girls, he would call me pathetic, emo, a freak. He would tell me to kill myself and go bleed somewhere. He would be in my face, telling me that I was worthless and everyone hated me, and that no one wanted me alive. I would take this every day of my life. I harmed myself and even attempted suicide because I couldn't take the abuse. I blamed it all on myself for being so different, even though I had tried so hard to be like them, changing my appearance to try to fit in, staying quiet and out of the way. I didn't know what I was doing wrong, but my bullies sure did. 

      When school let out that year, I moved 500 miles, to a different state, because of a job transfer of my father's. I knew I couldn't waste this chance to fit in, to not be a loser, to have friends. I couldn't waste it. Things started out promising, I joined the marching band and went to band camp before school started. There, I met a few people and thought that things were looking up, that people were just better. I was dead wrong. I got a completely different reputation. Right off the bat I was labeled a major whore. People created a back story for me, saying I had always been one. They said that I was easy, and that I had dated a million guys since I had moved here, and most definitely slept with them all. They even said I was doing things with a member of the faculty. I didn't know what to do. I didn't get many things to my face like I used to, but when I would meet someone they would know me by my reputation. I lost many friends because of this, even though they knew I wasn't like that. All of my friends would be gone by the end of the year. I was repellent after that, to people in general. I was losing control of things. My older sister, who attended the same school, tried to help me out as best she could, dispelling rumors left and right that her new friends had heard. But the magnitude of the rumors was too great, and I couldn't do anything because it was too indirect, according to counselors and disciplinarians. All I got to my face were disgusted looks and comments. I was powerless. I still am. 

      This still goes on today. I can't do anything about it for myself, try as I may. I will, however, do absolutely anything in my power to keep anyone I can from having to go through what I do on a daily basis. I know how much it hurts, and I know how damaging it is to one's self image. I am glad this organization exists and is expanding, for there definitely need to be changes to prevent this and any kind of abuse and torture for everyone. 

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