BULLIED

Story 472

I wasn't bullied at first, in fact, some wold say I was "popular". I'd been frinds with eeryone for years, so when they became the kids everyone wanted to be friends with, so did I.

Until I stopped conforming.

I became my own person, and this made me less popular. I still remained friends with some, but others, just bullied me for the way I was.

That was in Primary School (or, Junior School, I guess?).

Then I moved up to Secondary School (Middle School). Everything changed. I knew no one. I moved up with just two others from my school, and I only got on with one of them.

I'd been hurt before, so I distanced myself. I think all the time how my life could have been different, had I spoken to those girls that approached me. I had told them I didn't like people, didn't do frirndship.

And I guess it started there.

People I thought were my friends, saying things when they thought I couldn't hear. I once heard a girl say to her friend "Oh god I'm so confused" and her friend replied "Just copy ____, thats what I always do" and a group of them all laughed, including the person I had moved up with, my "friend".

The worst thing was, I still helped them. Because I'm the pathetic girl that hates dissapointing people, that just wants to feel like someoe cares, evenif I know that they don't really care.

I eventually fell into depression and developed anxiety. Having one or the other is horrible, having both is just... Confusing. My depression tells me to just stay in all day, while my anxiety screams that I'll get fat and have less friends. My depression urges my dig the knife deep in my wrist, while my anxiety cries, saying I'll hurt those around me.

You see, bulling is a lot more than just words. They are individual razors, slashing at my arms and legs. They are marks inside and out, while the outer ones may heal, the ones inside never will. Bulling is emotional/physical abuse, that isn't ok, no matter the situation. Because, even if you only ever say one small thing, that could be the time that that person has enough, that they can't take anymore.

And I almost got to that point.

It's the scariest thing, being about to end your life, wondering what death will feel like, if it will be better than where you are now. And I was sure it would be better. I knew I would go to heaven, I was already in hell.

But I could never bring myself to. I could only cut deep enough to hurt, noting more, and I made a single line, relishing in the hurt. I told my mum I woke up and it was like it, and didn't know how it happened. My mum brought it, saying it looked like a papercut, though it did look like I'd been cutting. I never told her the truth. And I know this is depressing, but these things happen, you can't always just read about the bulling stories where people get their happily ever after, because that doesn't always happen.

And me?

I don't know if I'll ever have a happily ever after.