A silent rumor spreading, a note taped to my back, and a kick to the shins – at the time, it felt as if I was prone to the unkind acts of my peers. To my immediate friends and family, I was known as the quiet, shy, and intellectual girl who often had a bright smile on her face, who loved cracking jokes and sharing stories. In elementary school I found myself fortunate enough to share a close friendship with two of my classmates. With them by my side, I knew where I would sit at lunch or what to do over a long weekend. My surreal childhood seemed to last for the longest time- until fifth grade- when, for no particular reason, a boy tripped me as I was walking back to my desk. As gravity kicked in, I had yet to realize that this was the beginning of something excruciating; the snowball started rolling, soon to become the avalanche that would dictate the next few years of my life. .
After returning to my seat, I felt upset and embarrassed, yet did nothing. My response was silence, and this invitation for cruelty was a mistake I would make again and again. After this first incident the increase in bullying was gradual; I had not even realized it was happening until I was already overwhelmed. One bully turned into three, then five, and with time nearly the entire grade looked at my existence as if it were worth less than their own. Taken in by peer pressure the few friendships that remained faded. With middle school came cliques, and with cliques came isolation; this time, more apparent than ever. With abandonment, I developed social anxiety. Worries about whether rumors were being spread, whether people hated me, or whether the few acts of kindness I did receive were genuine or just cruel jokes constantly tormented my mind. As the months passed by I found myself blaming everyone; my parents for not noticing my fake smiles, my teachers for never stepping in, and the school district for allowing this to happen.
