When I first started sixth grade, I started in a weird place. I'd gotten all the awful hormonal things before anyone else: specifically horrible acne and greasy hair. I've always worn glasses and been short, as well as a bit curvy for a sixth grader (which I was proud of, at first). On top of it all I've always been a huge band nerd and rather good in school, and I liked answering questions in class to build up morale with my teachers. I'd never had any trouble speaking my mind (I was pretty bossy and outgoing, really) and I was happy with myself and my body despite the changes.

All these things added together didn't make me into a sociable teenager...rather, they made me the perfect aim for bullying.

Every day I was mocked for my gross body changes and 'know-it-all' attitude. Even my own brother called me names constantly; 'attention whore' was his favorite. Teachers didn't help me. Hell, they made it worse by commenting on my appearance from time to time. It was all verbal, though. No physical bullying occurred during this grade.

Because of these things, I entered a depression I was way too young to have. I started to look at myself in a different way. The curves I was so proud of became fat; my pretty long hair became ugly; the acne I never worried about became overwhelming. It resulted in me completely stopping my speaking and doing some things I regret. I stopped eating entirely and replaced my meals with bouts of purging and cutting. My body was mutilated, and it only made me feel more ugly. I only wore long sleeves and jeans to hide the cuts on my wrists, thighs, and sides.

By this point I'd lost all but one of my friends, and it hurt so bad. I had the kind of loneliness I thought only happened in the movies; the kind that happens to high school kids. I was only twelve, for goodness sake. I didn't think that kind of sadness really existed until I experienced it.

It took until halfway through the school year for me to find my cheesy little ray of light. In band class I saw a flutist that I will graciously refer to as such. Flutist was arguing with another girl over some fingerings written on the page, and she was so passionate about what she was saying that I was entranced. I asked my single friend about this girl and learned her name. Once I knew that, I just had to befriend this girl.

I did befriend her; she became my best friend, in fact. I told her about all the bullying and how ugly and awful it made me feel; I confided in her about all the horrible things I'd do when I was alone, and much to my surprise, Flutist told me that she did many of the same things because her family didn't approve of her sexuality (she told me she was a lesbian). After that moment, I fell completely in love with her.

Seventh grade was worse than sixth for me. The horrible words that people said were suddenly backed up with physical abuse; punching and kicking and slapping that left bruises I'd have to hide when I got home. I'd spend night after insomniac night on the phone with Flutist crying my eyes out until five in the morning just to wake up an hour later and go do it all again. It was nine long months of this without change.

Eighth grade started and it felt different. I'd made a couple friends among the mess that was my life in the first week of school, and they managed to keep my suicidal ass alive. Flutist of course was there, and I was sometimes happy despite still getting beat up every week. I joined the marching band, I got more involved in class...it was looking up. I told Flutist how I felt about her, and she told me she felt the same way, and I was ecstatic. My life seemed to be sorted out.

Then I walked into school one day and the first thing I heard was the words, "Look, it's the emo dyke." I'd never heard that awful word 'dyke' directed at me since I tended to keep my sexuality to myself, but it cut deeper than any razor ever could. I looked up and the person who'd said it and she ran off, giggling with her friends.

I just kept walking, confused, until I got to my locker. Another person walked up to me (I'll kindly dub him Bully, if that's alright) and pushed my head into my locker. This was old news and it didn't even faze me until he said, "You think you're so cool, hitting on my girlfriend."

Of course, my reaction was "Uh, what?"

Apparently, Flutist wasn't a lesbian at all. She was dating Bully and lead me on only to reveal the text that I confessed my feelings to the whole school, as well as my secret purging and self harm.

After a severe beating I ran into the ladies room and locked myself in a stall, sobbing. I got a text on my phone that was from Flutist, and all that it read was how 'mean' I was. That only made me sob harder.

The next six months became my personal Hell. Flutist would remind me at odd hours of the night via texts how 'mean' I was. That was always the adjective she'd use...'mean.' (Due to that insult coming from someone I, quite frankly, still loved, hearing it even in present time sends me into a panic attack) I got worse than I was before, hurting myself even worse than my bullies were hurting me. I tried to prove I was 'straight' by dating a boy, but I felt so wrong that I just broke it off. I was a mess. All through those months I was told to kill myself, and boy, did I try. I was hospitalized 11 times in those months on overdosing alone. By then I was my biggest bully. It was the worst place I've ever been in my life.

Now, we get to present-day. I'm still young, only a freshman, but things have changed over the summer. I developed the bravery to stand up for myself, even taking up boxing to learn self-defense. I've come to terms with my sexuality (still not open about it, though...my family's Catholic) and I like who I am. I have a beautiful girlfriend and the two best friends that I could ever ask for. I still struggle to get over my depression and do relapse sometimes, as well as I've developed a severe anxiety disorder that I have almost no idea how to cope with, but I couldn't ask for better people to be around me as I get through this. Wattpad has also been a very helpful community. Books like this show me that I'm not alone and that people really do support the victims of bullying. And even though I lost people I never thought I would, like Flutist, I ended up with a life better than I foresaw.

I am proud to say that I am no longer bullied. I am alive today. I won my fight.