“Honey, if you’re going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty.”-Marilyn Monroe

When I think of all the things that I have gone through in life, mostly without a single tear or even emotion…I not only surprise the few people who I tell my stories to, but in the end I even manage to amaze myself.

People mistake me for being cold and distant, but if you really knew me, you would know that I want to be that person who lights up the room when I walk in…but that isn’t me at all. If you knew me, you would know that I really do feel for my friends and family and that I don’t take s*** from anyone when it comes to them. I’ve seen the things that can happen when nobody is there to help you…I happen to be shaped from that…
When I was in junior high, I was bullied and harassed from 6th grade until 8th grade…brutal, horrible things I went through…and while none of them were physical by any means…the mental and emotional pain was the worst, and sometimes I even wished that they would just beat the hell out of me and just get it done and over with…it would of hurt a lot less. I could deal with losing a fight, with being suspended from school for a week and getting yelled at by my parents…at least then someone would know that I was having issues at school.

I coped in my own ways, which were not the best choices by any means…I bore the pain and memories on my arms for months, and even years…and yet nobody knew a thing. I was too broken to deal with the looks and the whispers from people if they knew what I was doing…I already had enough of that…I just wanted to die, and on the inside I literally felt dead…like my insides were already rotting and decomposing, I was just waiting for the outside to catch up…
I never cried in front of anyone during that year…I just hung my head and pulled my sleeves down…that’s all I could do. I didn’t have any experience with pain like that…I didn’t have any immunity…these were people who were once people I considered to be my friends, people I took pictures with, shared clothes and secrets with, and people who I trusted…that was the ultimate blow I took…they knew so much truth about me, and I thought that I knew them too…a wolf in sheep’s clothing was all they were…
The next two years got worse however. While I was learning more and more about myself and about the people who betrayed me, learning their patterns and attack methods, I thought I was getting better…thinking that I could emotionally bear down and just let it bounce off of me but some things are easier said than done. It was awful, I was going through a breakup then and was very depressed and I knew it. My friends back then seemed to know that something was going on, but they never really were brave enough to ask what was wrong. I didn’t blame them. After an entire year of just wanting to fall off the face of the earth, I had developed a shell so to speak, one that I knew wasn’t bulletproof, but I knew it made it harder for things to get to me…

My last year was the worst. Again, with the relationship I was in, and the guy I was with at the time really wasn’t too keen on the whole “wait until your married” thing, if you get what I mean…I gave in and regretted it, and I still do to this day. Everyone found out, and I was treated like a diseased…thing. I was harassed, called horrible names, had notes made and copied and thrown all over the hallways, I got anonymous phone calls, texts and Post-It’s found on my locker door…I was being publicly humiliated and it broke me…for the first time, I was broken. I had no will to fight, and I had no fight in me left. I was abandoned by every friend I had, and ostracized to the fullest extent. My parents didn’t have a clue. Ever.
When I entered high school things finally ended. I got into a better relationship, got better confidence and stopped the self-mutilation altogether. I felt better in the first year of school than I have in a long time. Over the course of three years in junior high, I had been pushed away, harassed, bullied and treated like trash, which all ended up on my wrists, arms, legs, and even my back at the worst. I had tried suicide 18 times over three years…and to be honest, I don’t know what made me just, stop. Stop the blade from going too deep, stop the pain from getting beyond the breaking point, I don’t know what stopped me, but I can honestly say that I am happy that I stopped, whatever it was that made me (not) do it.