She charged in and let out her war cry. Well at least in my eyes that's the way it went. But she walked in, looked around, and her eyes fell on me. "You will pay," she told me, loud enough for the room to hear. Not that it should have mattered. There were only four other kids in the room. Normal size 8the grade class for a private school; the kids I grew up with, the kids I had known since 1st grade. Now they had become strangers. She purposefully walked passed my desk, to the other three kids, one boy and two girls. Those two girls who had been my best friends since 3rd grade until She decided to claim them for this last year of middle school. She had them convinced I had betrayed them. I didn't think they'd turn their backs on me, but they did. Why? Cause she was popular. How, with so few kids? Your guess is as good as mine. She had this aura, a stance that demanded attention. Some way that made you feel understood while She talked to you. For awhile; then She pulled you in, She pulled both of them in, leaving me out, leaving me as bait. That's all She really needed, bait, cause everyone else was on Her side already. The teacher walked in. He looked from me, to the kids on the other side of the room. He kept walking until he reached his desk. "Doesn't he notice something wrong here?" I think to myself; that's all I have left, myself to talk with for 7 hour days. Wonderful, I might as well be insane. I pass away the hours doodling and writing random lines of poetry. The final bell rings and I'm glad I got away with only a few harsh glances, points, and laughs; with a couple snickers and minimal arguments. I get home; no practices for me, all my seasons are over. My parents are busy with my 4 other sisters and brother. I can sneak away to my room, though I share it, and write in my personal notebook. I never take this out of my room, not far from my secret nook, so there'd be no chance of anyone sneaking a glance in. I've written of every last one of my experiences and attached it with a poem. First page, ah yes, the day my parents didn't believe me when I said I was getting bullied. "How can you get bullied there if there are only 4 kids in your 8th grade class and we know them and their families? Really mija, you must be exaggerating," was all their argument consisted of. So I made up excuses: if only I was prettier or skinnier. Those had to be it I convinced myself, so I took the quick route-- piling on makeup and starving myself. However, once they caught on to my scheme, the teasing intensified. They called me a clown to my face, a slut behind my back. Ignorant to my face, mental behind my back. This was all I could take, this was worse than any time before. I had no one to listen, no way to escape ...unless I tried the slightly painful, but seemingly accurate rid-of-stress action: cutting. I had heard that girls relieved stress that way, they wrote about it all the time. That night I locked myself in the bathroom in thee middle of the night and tested it for myself. And I found out for myself. I got addicted to it as a way out. It wasn't for a couple months after that my dad found out. He stood there, gripping my arm, stunned. He looked me in thee eye, and said, "If you dare do this again, I will disconnect you from all outside sources." The thought terrified me, though looking back, I saw no reason why, I had no friends. The "friends" my dad assumed I had, called me emo, goth, insane. This was the worse I never could have imagined it could result to. In the end, I stopped cutting, but I moved on to yet another addiction, drugs now. I started overdosing on painkillers. The reality of this world would start to haze, and in those blissful moments, I could convince myself reality was just a nightmare, that in actuality, I had it way better, I had it normal. I kept this going for 3 years, though in high school it was a lot more rare, but my escape none the less. My parents had always told me to ask God for help, but it was pretty difficult to understand why God would have me suffer through all this, and why He didn't just strike them all down for bullying me. That was thee events pertaining my 8the grade year. I graduated with no friends and I entered my first public school for high school knowing no one. That's truly friendless there. But my scars helped me connect to some that have gone through the same situations I have, and have me realize, I can be myself with them no matter what, cause they'll always accept me. That's what I had to suffer through to know. To know not to treat anyone the way I was treated. You never know what lies they tell themselves to fit in.