I was twelve.  I was already taller than five feet, so I was taller than most of the boys.  I only weighed eighty-some pounds, and looked like a couple of Q-tips glued together.  I had no breasts, no hips, and nothing to distinguish me from a boy except waist-long, greasy black hair.  My pale skin was greasy on my forehead and dry and peeling around my mouth.  My nose had grown before the rest of my face, and I only had four teeth on my top row and a hideous underbite.  I was known as the most unpopular and ugliest girl in the grade, and people weren’t afraid to say it to my face. 

It is hard for me to find pictures of myself from that time, because whenever a camera came out, I tended to hide from it.  I wasn’t stupid, and I knew what I looked like.  Moreover, I knew that everything in middle school rested on appearance.  I had nothing going for me.

I had never done anything to hurt anybody.  The only thing I had done to warrant so much hatred was to dress in a Goth-punk sort of way, with fake leather and fishnet stockings every day, and to occasionally say “out-there” things in class.  I was never mean, and I didn’t do anything against the rules.  However, the way I dressed earned me the reputation as a “slut” even though I had never kissed a boy.  My “loyal” friends staged an intervention with me, where they told me they could no longer let me sit with them at lunch, plus they would no longer be my friends.  This happened in the form of voting me off of the table, like in a reality show.  Boys told me they would rather die than date me, and popular girls told me I would always be the ugliest thing walking the earth.  People left tables when I sat down, and people laughed at me to my face.  One time, a bunch of boys bombarded me by throwing pens at me while I was out in the courtyard.  I would be invited to parties that never existed, and asked to be in fake friendships which were really just cruel jokes on me.

I never thought that in just a few years, all of this pain would be over.  My physical appearance changed drastically with puberty.  I stopped getting taller, my body filled out, and I no longer looked like something out of a horror movie.  Boys finally started becoming interested in me, and I ended up making fabulous friends and getting into my first-choice college.  Now, those ugly and torturous days seem like a faraway nightmare, but they are still present in my mind, all the time.  It bothers me to know that although my awkward phase may have ended, other kids are going through it now, and kids will be going through it forever.

Strangely, I never turned to drugs or self-mutilation to feel better about what was going on.  I thought about killing myself all the time, but I could guarantee you I never would have done it.  Those thoughts are common and it was never a serious consideration.  The unfortunate aspect, however, is that many kids don’t write that off.  They don’t know that middle school, or high school, is temporary.  They may know it only lasts for a few years, but they think they will be a loser forever.  They think they’ll always look the way they look and that they will never be well-liked.  I believe some of the most interesting people are the ones who went through this sort of adversity as a child.  They usually have more character and are more appreciative of their friends.  Although I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, being bullied can sometimes be a blessing because of these factors, if you are strong enough to make it through and if you do something to help the cause in the future.

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I don’t mean to sound self-riteous or holier-than-thou, but I wish there was some way for me to contact every preadolescent going through this sort of trouble, maybe through the form of speaking at middle schools.  It’s extremely unfortunate, however, that kids are often too afraid to talk about what they’re going through, and are convinced they are the only ones.  I couldn’t stress more that bullying is temporary–by the time you are even in high school, usually it has calmed down, and by college it’s near nonexistant, and in college, the people who gossip and bully are the immature ones, and it’s not looked upon fondly.  More importantly, by college, most people, even ones who were bullied as kids, have gained enough confidence not to care about what other people say (or at least not beat themselves up over it). 

I’ve always dreamed of being able to speak at middle schools someday to share this experience.  I don’t think I’m unique–I think there are many other people who went through the same thing that I did.  But sometimes, teenagers don’t seem to realize they are one of many and I believe someone needs to tell them that.  Some of the most successful people were probably bullied as kids.  I find it hard to believe Bill Gates was ever the captain of the football team.  Tyra Banks was picked on in school for the looks that made her famous.  It sounds corny, but they didn’t give up on their dreams, and neither should you.

So, if you are in the same boat as I was and you’re reading this, try this on for size: this is not the “time of your life” as the Green Day song might insinuate.  It is the worst time of your life, actually, and it will only get better.