I guess it started in seventh grade.

I had developed trichotillomania, which is a mental illness that causes a person to pull their hair out. I still have it, and I often wear beanies, hoodie with the hood up, headbands, and other things. I still have it, but I don't get bullied anymore about it. People just ask stupid questions.

But anyway, some kids in my Spanish class picked on me for it. I brought it up with the teacher and she did nothing. At first I ignored them or reply back with smart remarks, but then it became serious.

One guy who sat behind me took my beanie off and yanked my ponytail, and then I turned around, and punched him in the face. He toppled backwards and his head hit the bookshelf behind him. Everything is kind of a blur after that, but I think he had stitches.

I got into loads of trouble and I was virtually mute at school for the rest of that year.

In eighth grade, I hung out with a clique that I was kind of friends with, but we didn't really have the same interests and I hung out with them because my friends had a different lunch than I did.

I thought everything was cool and fine, until two girls began whispering to each other, kind of pointing or looking at me. But of course, when I asked about it, they avoided the question or said it was nothing.

But right in the middle of flipping gym class, which is the class all of the clique members and I are in, they approached me and called me out on things that weren't true (well, some of them were, but it still hurt).

They called me unathletic (true at the time), creepy, ugly, stupid, gullible, and they said I always breathed down the neck of one of the girls, and stalked all of them of Facebook (all false). And through the entire thing, they said they 'weren't trying to be mean'.

If they weren't being mean, why make up stuff?

If they weren't being mean, WHY DID THEY ADDRESS THIS IN THE MIDDLE OF FREAKING GYM?

But after that situation, I tried to slit my wrists with a kitchen knife but the blood clotted before I bled out. The school found out and dismissed it as a symptom of my Bipolar disorder. I cut until the end of the year, when I delivered a letter to each of the girls' lockers, which read 'thanks for last night' and signed with the school player's signature and a 'used' condom (I just took it out of the wrapper, stretched it out, and put soy milk in it)

Maybe I went a little overboard, but whatever. It's their karma.