I am bullied.

I'm twelve, and I'm a freak. At leadt that's what everyone tells me.

I used to have two best friends who loved and cared for me. That all changed when they transfered schools. I became the loner.

I used to talk in class, but now I don't have my small little 'clique' anymore.

I'm quite averange height, and I don't think people even notice when they bully me. They call me fat, ugly, a b*tch.

And I laugh. And they laugh.

They think it's a joke. They think it's all fun and games. I was hurt. I am hurt. I am hurt, broken and lonely.

I cut. I never knew what was cutting before I read a fanfic. The boy used to cut when his supposedly 'friends' laughed at him, called him names, and abused him. I felt like him, so I decided to cut.

Never too deep, I told myself. I cut slowly, sometimes not breaking the skin and just leaving red marks embedded in.

I can't stop. It's like a drug, an addiction.

Yet they still call me names, and I still smile. Laugh. Joke.

They call me fat. I laugh and tell them I'm 45kg, and they laugh and tell me i'm not. They call me ugly. I laugh and nod along. They call me stupid, I tell them I scored higher than them in the exams. They call me annoying, I tell them okay, and walk away.

I'm sick and tired of them bullying me. I have bulimia and anorexia. I stick my freaking finger down my throat every night.

I hate myself. I hate the fact that I'm so fat. I hate the fact that I'm so stupid. I hate the fact that I love my friends too much to tell them stop. I hate the fact that I stop people from bullying them, when they bully me. I hate the fact that I let them hit and kick me, only to pretend it doesn't hurt. I hate the fact that I'm not perfect. I hate the fact that I'm me. I hate the fact that I'm alive.