It has been about four years now but it all started when my oldest daughter was in 8th grade, It was her last year in middle school, before venturing off to high school, to be with the big kids.  She began receiving calls on her cell phone from a blocked number. The boy on  the other end told her he had a crush on her and that he was in love with her.  At first we thought it was innocent.  The calls became more frequent and  disturbing.  This person was now describing in specific detail, sexual acts that he was going to perform on her.   We called the police immediately.  I remember the officer saying to me, "Well did she do anything to cause this?" As if she wasn't already being victimized?!?!  He advised us, that there wasn't much we could do since he was calling from a blocked number. I was determined one way or another though, that I was gonna catch this little s.o.b.  I documented every incident, date, time, conversation and name of every police officer I came in contact with.  I contacted the school and made them aware of the situation as well. Another call, he stated he was in front of our house watching her and he was going to rape and kill her. During one of these calls, he slipped up. He forgot to block the number.  I thought to myself, "ah ha got him!" but it wasn't that easy.  The police were very reluctant to help us.  Our cell phone carrier said, they couldn't release the phone records to us without a court order, and I felt like we were hitting a brick wall.  It took my investigating to find out who this individual was and in the process found out, it wasn't just one person in on this cruel harassment, but it was four.  It turned out to be a female "friend" of my daughter, another fellow student and two of their neighborhood friends, which my daughter did not know.  The reason? They thought it would be funny to scare the life out of her. I went to the police station with all of there names, parents names and addresses to press charges.  The officer explained to me how difficult it would be to get charges to stick, because they were minors.  The first process was a hearing at the Board of Education.  Three of the youngest kids admitted their guilt but stated the oldest boy, a seventeen year old high school student, was the ring leader and he bullied them as well.  Now he would admit to nothing.  I remember he sat there with his head down the entire time, red in the face, shaking his leg irritably, back and forth.  When the mediator questioned him, he contradicted himself.  When she pressed him, he got more and more agitated and spoke back at her with disrespect.  The mediator's conclusion was for us to proceed forward with the charges and we did.  It took a year to get into court, what a joke that entire process was.  We provided the phone records, which were traced back to this boys cell phone.  The court subpoenaed Three of the other kids as witnesses, but found out apparently that because they are juveniles, their parents didn't have to enforce them to testify. So we ended up with one witness who was willing.  The defendant hired a high priced attorney, who advised him to plead the 5th of course, which he took advantage of.  While my 14 year old daughter had to sit on the stand, to have her words twisted and recollect the events from over a year prior.  The prosecutor presented to the judge the phone records and was able to prove it was the defendants number.  Our witness also testified, that he made the harassing and threatening calls.  However, in the end none of it mattered.  The Judge stated, he believed that the defendant was involved but, in his words "it's just kids being kids"  Don't get me wrong, I didn't expect him to receive jail time, maybe just a short community service.  I thought at least maybe the judge would give a little lecture regarding the severity of the situation. Possibly suggest some counseling or advice. Show some compassion for the ordeal my daughter went through. SOMETHING!  As scary, frustrating and disappointing as this entire experience was, I would go through the process allll over again, to defend and protect my daughter and to teach her as well as my other children, to stand up, whether it is for yourself or someone else, stand up.  It is simply the right thing to do.  

I went through my whole life being bully, but I wanted an education so I just pushed through. I have special needs nothing major I can stay in regular classes I just need extra time on test, so I leave the room during test. Also, I have a hard time processing information so I have to go home and really study information and I never did extra school activities because of this and because of the bullying. I had friends in elementary school, but in middle school when the clichés stared I lost all my friends as they joined the popular group and I was told I was not cool or pretty enough to join that group. So all through middle school and high school I had no friends. I'm very shy so it is hard for me to go up to people and try to make friends and since I got picked on so much it was even harder to make friends. I was overweight  and I didn't wear the clothes from the popular stores (Abercrombie, Aeropostale, Hollister, etc.) because I was to poor and I would get made fun because of that. I would try to get to class before anyone else because when I walked into class the popular girls would say out loud her comes sasquatch, the big girl, or other horrible names. When we did group projects I would have to do mine alone because no one would want to work with me. I would sit at lunch all alone and that was very hard for me because people would make a lot of fun of me for that. If I had to much food people would make comments to me about that too. I walked to school because I lived only a few miles from school and when people drove by me they would shout mean things to me outside their window. Then with my learning disability I heard things about that too. If a teacher called on me and I got the question wrong people would make a nasty comment and call me dumb and say I will never make nothing of my life or get a career. When I sat in class guys behind me would throw paper or spit balls at my head or say ugly names at me and say I would never get a boyfriend or get married. I would get pushed in the hallway, but I never got a lot of physical abuse most of my abuse was verbal and mental. I had problems at home too, so with the home problems and school problems I started getting really bad depression that at age 24 I know have with even more mental illness I have now. I also tried to commit suicide a few times when I was in high school and thankful never ever went through with the plan just wrote the letter and had ideas. In 9th grade I wanted to drop out of school, but my parents wouldn't let me do that. I never told my parents much because I didn't have a good relationship with them so I just sucked it up and spent a lot of time crying in my bedroom alone. I still have a lot of issues from the abuse that I'm working on. The thing that I did to get by it is I know I wanted to get an education, so I just pushed through those torture years to graduate. I even went on to college, which was hard because I still had no friends but the abuse had stopped thankfully and now have a Bachelors Degree. My education years was torture I won't sugar coat it at all, but I'm glad I pushed through it and I didn't let those students when by running away and hiding and now I'm hear with an education and hopefully one day have a job oh and I also have a wonderful boyfriend who I one day will marry and I am also a little skinner than I once was. Thanks to that abuse and other things I counter over the years I know have mental heath issues, but oh well life goes on. I suggest that if anyone else is being bully fine someone to talk to I wish I did that. I didn't have my parents, so I wish I did fine someone to talk to, so that is the advice I would give. Don't let it get to the point of suicide because that is never the answer.

I'm 25 years old, I was bullied from primary school all the way up to university, which caused me to drop out. I regretted my decision initially, but over the years it has become apparent that everything happens for a reason. I believe that everything happens for a reason (however bad it may seem at the time). That mantra has stuck with me for my whole life. I always treat people the way I want to be treated. It took a while for me to find any friends at all, but when you do find them, they love you for exactly who you are, no matter what. My two best friends in the whole world, I've known one of them for almost 11 years and the other one who I've known for 3 years is now my husband. Bullying is so cruel and unreasonable but it happens to everyone, everyday. Whether you're different physically or mentally or even just your accent or the way you eat your food. One day I hope that people will become more tolerant and take more of an interest in their children's lives to notice when their child is being a bully or being bullied and take action. It's not fair to these children, especially when you hear some of the reasons why they're bullied. It makes me sick.

When I was in Kindergarten, people started bullying me. People told my friends not to be my friend. So I was alone, sitting by myself at lunch. Not a single person talked to me. I been bullied until I reached to 7th grade. One day, a boy pushed me onto the ground and punched me a lot of times. The principle and the teachers didn't care. What did I even do? I've been on the ground crying for the whole day. No one cares about me. Only my sister came to help. My sister told the people who bullied me to stop,but she started to got bullied. We both were cyberbullied too. My sister said,"Why are we still here?" When I reached to 8th grade, no one bullied a single bit. I started to be happy. Later, my life is much better then before. I love my life. I wish I never been bullied. Never.

I came from a humble home with two loving parents who worked hard for their paychecks. I was the second child of two. I was given everything my parents could give. I was taught to be polite and grateful. My parents tried to do the best by me that they could. But as much as they tried to shelter me, I was born destined to go through many trials before triumph.

It all started for me when I was two. I remember going to a doctor who had a big room with all kinds of toys in it. I would play while we talked. Every time I met with her I felt guilty and for lack of a better word, crappy. I remember taking medicine everyday that my mom gave me with pudding. That medicine I now know was ridalin. I was taken to psychiatrists, psychologists and even the Yale child study but they couldn’t diagnose exactly what was “wrong” with me.

But I wasn’t the only one in my house dealing with issues. I remember when I was very young that my mom had to go away for a while. My mother suffered from severe depression. When she wasn’t at work or taking care of us she was in bed. My dad supported her through everything the best he could. I remember that she cried a lot. My mother told my brother and I that she had to go away for a while. She actually had gone away to a psych ward to receive ECT. Electric convulsive therapy, better known as shock therapy, a last resort for severe depression.


Fast forward to when I was in second grade, I remember my parents having their first and last psychical fight. I remember my dad was playing a song that got my mom really angry. I won’t go into details but I remember my brother on the floor crying and begging them to stop. We ended up leaving with my mom to stay at my grandmother’s for two weeks. There was an incident somewhere in my young childhood that I won’t forget. I had a friend over who was a good few years older than me. One day while my family was outside painting the fence she took me into my closet. She started humping me and touching me. I told my parents later what happened and she was never allowed in our house again. Around that time period was also when years of bullying started. In fourth grade the bullying was so bad I would come home everyday crying and I unknowingly started eating for comfort. From that I started gaining weight which gave the kids even more ammo against me. The summer before I started 5th grade we moved far enough that I was able to choose if I wanted to go to the other elementary school near me, and hoping for a fresh start I opted for the new school. Almost right away the bullying started again. I was teased about my hair, my shoes, my clothes, my weight, even my toes. Nothing was safe. Home life was not an escape either. I was abused verbally and psychically until I was about 14/15 years old. My brother and I didn’t get along and he often teased me too, which hurt the most because I’ve always looked up to him more than anybody. It felt like I was being put through a series of tests. At the time I could not understand why and shyed away from my religion which did the opposite of help. Everything really snow balled once I hit middle school. At the age of 12, when I was in the beginning of 7th grade, I started self mutilating. I remember that day as clear as if it was yesterday. I was doing homework with a friend, I had a yellow pencil sharpener in my hand and for some reason, I still don’t know why to this day, I got a screw driver to unscrew the razor and started cutting my arm. The next day at school, whether it was a teacher or a student, someone had “told on me.” I remember being called to the school psychologists office and was asked a lot of questions by her and the school nurse. The next thing I know I was brought into the conference room and there with the principal were my parents. I started crying and apologizing. My parents of course weren’t mad, they were very upset and worried. They took me out of school for that day and we went to get lunch. I remember my mom telling me over lunch that the school wanted me to be brought to the hospital for a psych evaluation. A few months later, at age 13, I was sent to the hospital and admitted to the psych ward for the first of many, many times for cutting and being suicidal. At that point everyday I would come home from school, lock myself in my room and cut myself while I sobbed. I remember after being brought to the psych floor that I had a few minutes alone with my parents to say goodbye. That was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. I was there for about two weeks. There were many more admissions to be had, for different lengths of time. I always went to st. Raphaels, I remember they had two quiet rooms which were padded rooms. I remember horrifically being put in there many times through out my admissions. It felt so inhumane, scary, lonely, and almost traumatic. I remember one of my admissions on the night before I was being discharged one of the girls Elaina, a little younger than me I had befriended during my stay, was having a breakdown and ran into my room for me. One of the male staff literally dragged her out and put her in one of the quiet rooms. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. The waiting in the emergency room there was the worst part. Forced to wear a hospital gown, you had to sit on a stretcher in a small room painted a nauseous green for days until a bed opened up. You werent even allowed to use the bathroom in the hall to stretch your legs. You had to use the bathroom which was a prison style steel toilet that had a door that didnt lock and had the bottom and top cut out. There was no age segregation, there would be much older than me men and women in there with me who were bought in for being psychotic, extremely drunk or high. You were served a ham sandwich for practically every meal. It was even worse than jail, at least in jail you get tv, phone calls and an hour outside.

I was basically kicked out of middle school halfway through my repeat year of 8th grade at 15 and was sent to pathways, an alternative high school. In lamen terms, a school for people who had emotional issues, used drugs, etc. There they were allowed to use force by restraining a student. The school had extra male staff who were behavioral counselors, basically body guards who restrained people, sat with the kids (that were sometimes psychically) removed from class and other assorted things.  One time for example I got mad and punched a wall. One of the behavior counselors flipped me over, I landed with my stomach down onto the ground and he put his foot on my back.


 Eventually. the same year I started the alternate school at age 15, I was sent to yale and was admitted to the yale psychiatric ward for the first time. It wasn’t as bad as st. Raphaels because instead of everyone under the age of 18 it was just teenaged patients. There were no quiet rooms though, instead people were just restrained to their beds. After I was discharged I went to the Yale intensive outpatient program. I’ve been to five different IOPs through out the years. I also did DBT, Dialectal behavior therapy, three times because I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and DBT is what helps people with BPD. At the yale IOP there was a guy there that I liked and his feelings were mutual. We started “dating” but we only saw each other at the IOP. So sometimes we would kiss there, and eventually we got caught. They asked me to sign a contract stating that I would follow rules. I refused and so I got kicked out. However me and the boy started seeing each other outside of the IOP instead. The more we hung out I would find he would say something one day and then tell a completely different story the next day. In not so many words, he played mind games with me. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia and had problems of his own. He would constantly tell me he was a different age and had a different name. Sometimes he would get mad and just scream at me or break things and blame it on me. I remember the day I spent with him that was the worst day of my life. We were hanging out like normal when he asked me to walk to the pharmacy down the street with him. So I did and when we got there he bought condoms. He would always try and do stuff with me I wasn’t comfortable with like trying to take off my clothes or put his hand down my pants. I was young, innocent, and naive and so I thought that was what all guys did. That day after he bought the condoms we went back to his house. In his room he basically forced himself on me. I told him it hurt and I didn’t want him to continue but he didn’t listen. I didn’t realize exactly what happened until months later when I confessed to my mom I hadn’t had my period for five months. Eventually I got my period and it lasted a whole month. To this day we’re not sure if my period was gone from the trauma and stress or if I was pregnant and miscarried. I’ll always hold a special place in my heart for the 50 percent chance that I was with child and lost it. I didn’t fully understand what had happened right away. So we continued to “date” until one nights head game that was too much for me. We were talking on the phone and he told me he wanted to die. He said that he had taken a bunch of pills and was overdosing. He pretended to be feeling the effects of the pills and was slowly passing out, then he let the line go dead. I freaked out not sure what to do so after a few minutes I decided to call his house phone. I called and his dad answered the phone and said he was in the shower. That was finally enough for me, the relationship between us was over, but I will always carry a scar from that disaster.

At age 16 I dropped out in the beginning of the school year after being taught one on one in the late afternoons instead of going to school during the day. I couldn’t mentally handle school anymore. In January 2009 I was at a friends house sleeping over when my mom called me and said she told my dad she wanted a divorce, packed her things, and went to my grandma’s. I knew this was actually going to happen and wasn’t just a problem they could fix. I stayed with my dad and brother in the house until halfway through February. My dad was miserable (deservedly so,) depressed and angry. We didn’t get along like we do now. So I moved into my boyfriend of 4 months house with his parents. My parents tried to call my dcf worker and the police to make me come back but at the age of 16 they couldn’t legally make me return home. I stayed there until April when my mom got a condo for her, my brother and I. After a few months my mom and I, who I also didn’t get along with at the time, butted heads too much so I moved back in with my boyfriend. Eventually my dad got an apartment for himself and I. In November of that year, 2009, I went for my GED and got it. I then proceeded to go to cosmetology school. I completed 500 of the required 1500 hours before my mental status deteriorated and I couldn’t continue to go to school anymore. After my 18th birthday I moved back into my moms condo. One day we got into a big fight, I called 911 and then got arrested. Needless to say I came back, got my stuff and went back to my boyfriends. Eventually I moved back into my mom’s a third time. My brother moved out because he said he couldn’t handle all my drama. In between all this I was racking up hospital admissions. After two years in April 2011 we moved to a 3 bedroom apartment, my mom was engaged to her current husband at the time so him and his 14 year old son moved in. I hated being apart from my boyfriend so he slept over a lot and ended up after a while just moving in. It was too small of an apartment for all of us and we all fought a lot. So we moved back to his parents house. Come March 2012 my boyfriend and I got our own studio apartment on the other end of town. It was great at first, we enjoyed the freedom and the feeling of being adults, he was turning 20 and I was 19 years young. I never got my license because at the age of 16 there was so much going on so I couldn’t drive myself anywhere. Then I developed severe anxiety on top of everything else. That continued to prevent me from getting my license so I couldn’t go out without my boyfriend. I became agoraphobic basically. My boyfriend would go to work during the day while I, who at this point was receiving disability because I couldn’t handle working, stayed home all day watching tv, playing video games and sleeping a lot. Eventually the only time I would leave the house is when I was with my boyfriend to go shopping or to his visit his parents. The new shine of having an apartment wore off and I became severely depressed. The two of us were fighting constantly. One day after a fight I was pretending to do the dishes and I grabbed a knive. I ran into the bathroom, locked the door and was going to kill myself. My boyfriend saw what I did and called my mom. My mom called 911 and the police and EMTs basically broke the door down and papered me to have to stay in a psych ward for ten days. After that I was assigned a nurse who kept my meds so I wouldn’t overdose on them. She would come to the apartment everyday to deliver me my daily dose of medicine. I was taking a high dose of clonapin twice a day. After a while I started hiding them away and taking multiple ones when I was very depressed. I was already addicted from having been taking clonapin for years but taking extra made me even more addicted. Meanwhile I was also heading down a bad road with alcohol. I started trying to get alcohol any time and way I could from people because I was underage. I would beg my boyfriend at 8:30 at night to call in favors from people who were old enough to buy alcohol. When I drank, I drank to get hammered. In my mind, there was no point to drinking and not getting drunk.
I wouldn’t drink all the time, mostly because I couldn’t get alcohol easily. But when I did drink I binged drank. August was approaching and I was to be the maid of honor in my mom’s wedding on August 12, 2012. I had a few drinks after the ceremony while we were taking pictures. I gave my toast to the newlywed couple and then I hit the open bar. I don’t remember much in between before I started drinking and being carried out. Later I found out I completely made an idiot out of myself and embarrassed my mom practically ruining her wedding. It was then I decided between popping clonapin and percosets and binge drinking that I needed help. So August 31st I flew down to Delray Beach, Florida. The night before I left, my boyfriend thought it would be a good idea for us to go to a bar for one last hurrah. We quickly ran out of money but wanted to drink more so we needed to aquire more money. I told him to walk across the street to the gas station and use their ATM. Instead he insisted on driving on the highway to the next exit to use his banks ATM to avoid fees. After a while sitting at the bar waiting for him to return I knew something bad happened in my gut. I called and called his cell phone until he finally answered saying he got pulled over and couldn’t talk. I ran out of the bar, down the street and tried to get on the highway to go find him, not that I knew where I was going, all while completely inebriated. I’m lucky I didn’t get caught and arrested for being drunk in public. I called my mom crying and she told me to stay where I was and sent my brother to come pick me up. Needless to say my boyfriend was arrested. My mom was going to bail him out for me but his Dad said no, to let him stay there overnight to learn a lesson. I was flying out to Florida first thing in the morning. That night was the last time I ever saw him.  On the plane and on the way to the rehab I popped almost a whole bottle of clonapin. To this day I don’t remember anything after getting out of the car at the rehab’s detox. Lucky for me they take your picture upon coming into the facility so I had that horrible picture of me looking extremely high and disheveled to haunt me the rest of my time there. Finally after detoxing I was oked to go to the apartments of the rehab. While there I made good sober friends, cried a lot, worked on myself, and even had sober fun. After a long time of thinking and a lot of advice I decided it was best for many reasons to break up with my boyfriend. After almost two months in rehab I went to a sober house. I was planning on staying at the sober house for a while so I had my mom kick my now ex out of my apartment and pack up somethings, but I had her throw out most of it. At the rehab they had taken me off of all my meds which for some reason I thought was a good idea. My mental status was getting very bad between depression and anxiety and I was cutting and burning myself with cigarettes. After about 5 days I called my mom crying and begged her to get me a ticket for the next plane home. Almost as soon as I got home I started snorting and swallowing clonapin. After a few days home I was sent to another Rehab in florida. I was there for about five or six days detoxing, and my birthday passed while I was there. You aren’t allowed to use the phone so I couldn’t even call my mom on my birthday. They eventually said I needed to go to a psych hospital but my mom wanted me to come home and go to one here. I went home but didn’t go to the hospital. Instead after a few days I was sent to a third rehab in Florida. I was there detoxing for about three weeks. I was completely losing it by that point. I was paranoid people were watching me through my rooms window so I put the mattress over the window. I was showing a lot of bizarre behaviors. In the middle of detoxing I was baker acted, which is the same as papered basically but florida calls it baker acted. The only difference is the police come get you. I was handcuffed, drove to a hospital somewhere in Florida I didn’t know, and was dropped off at basically what was a fast track to being admitted. I was brought in, told to sign some papers and all of a sudden I was being forced to go to the baker acted psych unit. The rooms were bare and depressing. There was nothing but a hospital bed. I had a breakdown shortly after being admitted and kept banging my room door closed over and over and over. About ten staff approached me and gave me an injection of tranquilizers by force. They then proceeded to take my bed out of the room and just left me the thin hospital bed mattress on the floor. The only “good thing” was that they had smoke breaks where you go out into this open space attached to the ward with just a bench, 15 foot concrete walls on all sides and chicken wire over the top. It wasn’t until the second day that I was able to use a phone and let my mom know where I was. I was given slowly decreasing doses of clonapin to help me continue to detox. Everybody in the unit had very serious mental health issues. It was stressful being around people who were even worse than me. There was an older man there who was in his 50s I think, that kept hitting on me the whole time he was there. I was “high” on a lot of tranquilizers and heavy drugging medicines while there. One of the times we were outside smoking the staff member who was watching us went inside to do something. I was so out of it and that man took advantage of that fact and molested me. The next morning I realized what had happened and told the staff. Police came in and questioned me about what happened then moved the man to another unit. That was all the justice I got. After about four days I was released back into the custody of the rehab and went back to detox. Finally I was brought to the actual rehab place on a Friday. Saturday was horrible, I hated it. By Sunday night I used a dramatic excuse as to why I had to get home immediately. Soon I was on a plane heading home again. I had learned a lot from the first rehab though, especially how to finally control my anger and find inner calmness. Right after the new year of 2013 I ended up in the hospital again for swallowing handfuls of motrin and had to drink a lot of charcoal. By this time I was 20 and was put on the adult psych floor. If left untreated mental health issues get worse as you get older. There were a lot of older people with scary mental issues. I had an older roommate there once who was so sweet, but she had schizophrenia and at night I would hear her talking to herself and “she” was whispering horrible things to herself. Once again I was discharged. My mom and stepdad were trying very hard at that point to find a nice house big enough for all of us. Change freaks me out, especially moving because at this point I couldn’t tolerate anymore moving. I was on the nutrisystem diet at the time and it consumed me to the point where I was just eating raw veggies and then not eating for days. I was in one of the worst depressions of my life. My mental health got so bad I became paranoid and became convinced there was a demon in my room possessing me. I even “saw” a demon in the walls. I started hearing voices in my head that were horrible and scary. The voices were telling me to do things and made me hide out alone in my room all day and night. After a while of it getting worse and worse I finally realized what was happening, that I was hearing voices, and I called my mom who was at the new house cleaning. By time she got back to the apartment I had been screaming at the top of my lungs at the voices to stop and was sobbing hysterically. It was so hard because they were screaming back at me not to tell anyone. Somehow I managed to get out what was happening to my mom. We went back to st. Raphaels and I got admitted the day we were moving into our new house. This was the first time I was there as an adult and I was sent to the adult ward. It was terrible there. You couldn’t walk around, they only put the tv on a couple of hours a day. There was a lot of down time to just sleep or be alone inside your head. While there I was restrained twice which is traumatic. The psychiatrist messed around with my meds, putting me on new stuff for the voices, upped doses of other meds, and took me off of others all together. One of the meds he took me off, seroquel, was basically the glue holding my anxiety somewhat together. I started getting horribly restless, I couldn’t sit in the common area. I had to lay in bed. It was like I had restless legs syndrome. In the groups I was able to attend my legs would bounce up and down at a million miles an hour. But after being there ten days I didn’t want to tell the psychiatrist and risk having to stay longer for him to fix it with meds. So I went home and it got so bad that I would sleep all day. Then I would get up, take my night meds and go back to bed. Obviously I ended up back in the hospital at yale because I couldn’t take it anymore. The leg problem was fixed with med tweaks and as usual after getting out of the hospital I was stable for a week or two. Upon discharge one of the nurses gave my mom and I a brochure to a conference about borderline personality disorder. One of the speakers at the conference talked about the hell she went through mentally and is now a renowned psychiatrist. It gave me a small slice of hope. I learned about the yale stress center and finally started seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist again. However come the end of June 2013 I was doing bad again and was admitted to the psych floor at yale again for the 22nd time. My mom told them I couldn’t come home because just coming home after each admission wasn’t working. I unfortunately had to agree to that statement. There was talk of me possibly being committed to Middletown’s Connecticut valley. Thankfully my therapist at the hospital came up with one last option before that. She found this place called Timberline Knolls, a residential womens program on the outskirts of Chicago, Illinois. You may have heard of it, Demi Lovato and Kesha have both been there. On July 8th I was discharged, packed up and heading on a plane to Chicago. Upon arrival at timberline I was embraced with open arms by all the staff members and the other wonderful women residents there. I was only there six weeks but it was six weeks of life changing. We were doing groups and fun electives such as fishing, going to the art studio, and therapy dance movement all day everyday. When I first got there I saw someone wearing a timberline knolls sweater that said timberline knolls, changing lives one day at a time or something to that extent. I thought it was a joke. I remember the first day there I was outside on the smoke deck, and I saw chalk drawings and quotes all over. I remember seeing one that changed my whole perspective and to what I credit helped me get well. In bright yellow letters it said “secrets keep you sick.” I vowed then to finally be open and honest with the staff and my peers about the skeletons in my closet. Getting everything off my shoulders and out in the open made me be able to forgive and move on from all the things and people who had hurt me. It was so freeing after years of silence to finally break that sound barrier and let it all go. We had groups about everything from addiction,surviving rape and abuse, and spiritual groups. There was the first time I actually shared in groups and was able to get great feedback from my peers and know I wasn’t alone. We had family meetings through  webcam, and I had a personal nutritionist to help me understand my eating disorder. While I was there I cried for the first time since the rehabs, it felt so good to let it out. There was a lot of the DBT classes that I took serious for the first time. I learned so many coping skills and learned how to appropriately and positively have conversations. I learned how to reach out when I’m having a hard time also. When I was in rehab and AA meetings I’d always hear about the spiritual awakening you’ll have someday. I thought it was a crock. But one day some of the girls were having an impromptu bible meeting and last second I decided to join. When it came my turn to read, what I read was like it was delivered from gods lips to my ears. I finally felt so happy and at peace with myself. I also learned to be fully appreciative of who and what I have. After six weeks I “graduated” and was sent home in the middle of August. Since then I’ve been self injury free, depression free, my anxiety is a lot better. I’m finally making goals again like to get my license and to go back to college. I can now have appropriate conversations with my family and not fight. I get along with my parents almost all of the time now. All it took was opening up and not carrying all these secrets.

So many times I thought of or tried killing myself. I felt so alone and like there was no hope. Now? Now I’m grateful for everything I’ve been through because I’ve learned so much. It’s made me very strong. The saying what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger is so true. I never was able to see a light at the end of the tunnel, but somehow I made it.My mom would always tell me that I had to fight these demons for a reason so that someday I could help somebody else. Spreading mental health awareness and helping others pull through their struggle is what all my struggles were for, and honestly, I wouldn’t go back in time and change a thing.

A few facts:

Suicide takes the lives of nearly 30,000 Americans every year.

Many who attempt suicide never seek professional care.

For young people 15-24 years old, suicide is the third leading cause of death.

15% of those who are clinically depressed die by suicide.

1 in 65,000 children ages 10 to 14 commit suicide each year.

An average of one person dies by suicide every 16.2 minutes. (CDC, AAS)

On the silver lining,

It is estimated that there are at least 4.5 million survivors in this country. (AAS)

80% of people that seek treatment for depression are treated successfully.

Research has shown medications and therapy to be effective suicide prevention.

Suicide can be prevented through education and public awareness.

If you are concerned for yourself, a loved one, or a friend, call the suicide hotline; go to yellowribbon.org or go to suicidepreventionlifeline.org

I know it sounds so cliche’ but please, reach out to someone. Don’t suffer quietly and alone.
There really is help out there and people who care.

throughout my 11 years of school, i have learned two things. 1, is that you're never alone and 2, always speak up. I was bullied all through elementary because my hair didn't grow like the other girls. My hair was abnormally short and i dressed like a boy. I went through the whole tomboy phase when i was younger and people hated on me for it for what i was comfortable with. I ignored the kids as long as i could and took a stand and told my principal. Now, still to this day, when i have reported being bullied the school has done nothing about it. I have heard the whole line of "I'll talk to that student after class" to "i'll call their parents" and yet, still nothing was done about it. i'd ask the teachers daily "what did their parents say?" and they'd give me nothing. I survived all of elementary moving to several different schools because of this. and with the bullying came redemption. I fought back in most cases and you should never fight fire with fire. But i did and almost everytime i was the one who got in the most trouble. Come middle school, i moved outside of my home town to a very small town in the middle of nowhere. I thought it would be a great fresh start to my life. When school started i felt so alone. I had kids picking on me, calling me the new kid, saying i looked like a boy, saying i was a fag and so on and so forth. I took a new approach by dressing more girly. When this started, the names progressed into whore, slut, skank etc. No matter what you do, kids are going to label you. I moved back to my hometown for my freshman year of highschool and it was great. the bullying had come to a stop and i had many friends. But sadly enough, that didn't last. I moved back to that small town in the middle of nowhere the year after. (my parents had split up for that one year of my freshman year) When i moved back, the summer was great and i had created many memories. As sophomore started, things got worse and for no reason everyone started to gang up on me. Because i came from the city they immediately thought i was some type of drug dealer.  People began to say the reason i left for a year was because i got pregnant. I spiraled down during this time and became a constant drinker. I ruined my body and my life because of this. I let it all get the best of me. I was losing the little friends i had to begin with. And i was alone. I couldn't go back to my hometown often because the commute was an hour drive and it cost a lot of money to drive back and forth. I went to go to first class one day, and the first thing i heard was a group of girls call me a slut and a coke addict. I dropped my books and went to my locker. I grabbed my stuff and left the school. That day, i told my mum i wasn't going back. I had broken down and i was fed up with everything. My mum then took me out of that school and enrolled me into homeschool until we moved back to my hometown for my senior year. As homeschool began, things we're going great. my parents made time for me to go to my hometown and see friends. But little did i know, my happiness was short lived. Eventually the bullying followed me to social media and texting. People began making public posts about me and starting ridiculous rumors. I didn't go one day for 3 months without hearing something about me over facebook or twitter or instagram. Social media is a powerful thing and will ruin your mind. I let that all beat me down. I didn't go to the school to report this nor did i call the cops although cops could do something about it. I felt hopeless. I started deleting everyone from that town off of everything that i was connected with so they couldn't see what i was doing or harass me. I didn't make the best step in letting it all stop because i did nothing about it. But sometimes that's the best thing you can do is nothing. Where i stand now, im moving back to my hometown, im finishing my sophomore year in my freshman school and things are getting back on track. i stopped constantly drinking and i'm getting my head on straight and not letting things get the best of me. 

My best advice to those suffering from school bullying and even if it follows you home, is just ignore it. The more you ignore the situation, the quicker it will fade. If you take action, it will just make things worse. For example, if you fight fire with fire, the flame only gets bigger. YOU are the first step in changing lives right now. Be the bigger person. Show you'rte much more than what they're making you out to be. Because no matter how hard everything gets, when even if you think you've hit rock bottom, it will get better. Not everything gets better as fast as you wish it could, but never give up. Because within time, things will change and those bullies will move on. They will leave you alone because you're not giving them anything to feed off of. Don't show that they make you upset. If they say something to you, brush it off like you never heard it. And not everyone needs 10 friends. I have 3 really good friends. And i can live with that. Because they are important to me. You don't need a whole bunch of peole to back you up. But before friends comes family. And family will always be there for you. or your legal guardian. You will always have someone so never feel as though you're helpless. Even in the toughest situations. Because even if it doesn't feel like it, someone, somewhere loves you with all their heart. And that's all you ever need to get through your day. So stay happy and don't let others bring you down because of their own pathetic needs of making someone else feel bad. Be happy because you're that bullies centre of attention :) 

Through out my elementary year I was bullied quite often, I normally would laugh it off and not let it bother me until I hit my 8th grade year. I got very sick with anemia and bunch of different viruses that prevented me from going school and that started rumors about me that I died or that I'm skipping school, during those days home alone I started to get depression and hated being by huge crowds of people. When I got better I went back to school yet people still talked bad about me so I started to pretend sick though my parents caught on and every morning id have a battle against them trying to stay home from school because I was so scared to get hurt even more by the people around me. As time went by I started feeling suicidal and leaned into self harm due to all the self hatred I felt about myself, people would call me emo and even over the internet people I never met would tell me how worthless I am and how I should go kill myself because I am a waste of space on this planet. I was put on medication that made me like a zombie, I had no emotion what so ever except the feeling of hate of myself that I wasn't and will never be good enough. Over that long year of hospital stays and therapy I finally was taken off most of that medication and found a great therapist that I go to once a week still to this day. I've been clean of cutting for a little over a year, I still get the thoughts of wanting to and I know I'll be stuck with them rest of my life but I know to never fall into the pressure of myself. I am currently 16 and now doing online school and doing great in all my classes, I have a constant reminder of a tattoo on my wrists saying "Always Believe" which is the motto I go by now and will proudly pass on one person at a time.

my story , never told anyone this but im a bully victim every day i was bullied , i was slapped , kicked , punched i was even spit on , all started when i was 13 , i had no friends i was alone. i didnt understood why! i was called gay , fag , queer , fat , ugly , ginger! one day i was in the yard and some boy punched me and start kicking me i was suspended over it ,i got my head put in the toliets , i would wish i could fall asleep and never wake back up. life was too hard as a child , i got a group off people came up too me onethem punched me the other one put a smoke in my face and took my phone. i then got my school bag turned inside out and uniform put in the showers in pe , i then got a scocers put too my neck telling me too kill myself! one night i was 13 and walk too the bridge over a main road and stood on it looking down thinking too myself "will i jump might be better off " i wanted my life too end! but i didnt jump , in about a week later i got jumped on in the middle off the class were he broke my nose , i walked true the school with blood down my face! i didnt go back , i change schools! when i was 14 the bullying came again i was called really mean names which i end up stop eating and would cry myself too sleep! i even got pissed on by another boy. i then one night got a phone call saying why dont you do your mother proud for once and kill yourself too then i thouht maybe my family would be better off without me , i then start self harming! hard cuts on my wrists , legs and stomach! i went onto facebook one night too find another facebook page with my name and pictures making fun and slagging me off.. i start hating myself and skipping school! i have no friends , i was in my followring year and i took drugs and start drinking and smoking to stop the pain i even got a school tie put around my neck! i hate my life! i was 15 and in hostipal 6 times trying too kill my self! i end up leaving school! i need friends! 

you know my name not my story! thanks for listen! if your being bullied never give up! there is hope , love and happiness after every dark night theres a brighter day! thank you so much

email: [email protected] if anyone needs too talk

When I was 11 years old, I developed a severe case of acne. I hate that word. Only in the sense it defined me when I was a pre-teen/teenager. It's a wonder I've developed any self esteem in my adult years. Because I was known as "pimples", "pizza face", "red face", and "ugly". I'm not taking about a few red bumps and a few black heads, no pimples covered the entire surface of my face. Some were huge, some were small. All in all they were painful. I was in pain in so many ways back then. Luckily none of my bullies ever physically hurt me but the emotional scars are worse then the acne scars. This wasn't random every once in awhile bullying, it was everyday. Some even said it was all my fault. But how was it my fault? I washed my face everyday, twice a day. My mother took me to a doctor, well several in fact. I showered everyday, wore clean clothes yet I was disgusting because it was hard to look at me. They think it was hard? Try being the girl who looked like that. I still find it difficult to face myself in a mirror. This all took place ten years ago. I think that's what's wrong with people in their Tweens. They have no idea the impact they have. They don't comprehend that they are wrecking havoc on other Tweens. They don't understand the issues they are developing in adults who were these bullied Tweens. I don't think people raise their children to learn what you say and do has a lasting impression on others. These people ruined my childhood. They taught me a word no child should know...hate. I hated getting up in the morning. I hated going to school. I hated...myself. That's something that's hard to get rid of. It was also hard to love myself again. It was made harder because in reality no one cared. Not my mother, who just smiled and said "Kids will be kids." She couldn't understand why no one liked me. She didn't understand why I had no friends. No one wanted to be seen with the freak. It was my problem not hers. Teachers saw and heard but never stopped it. And here I thought it was part of their job. To protect the children in their schools, but they don't. Other students who didn't bully me? They didn't care. No one stood up for me. That's the bottom line. Then one day I had enough. I stood up for myself. And that might make you smile but you shouldn't because I became what they are. I bullied back. Because while I sat quietly by myself, I learned to people watch. I learned what other people hated about themselves. I through those things in all their faces. And overnight I became something to fear. They shut their mouths, they turned away in the halls and class. They left me alone. I felt powerful. I felt what they felt and I wish I could take it all back. I wish I had stayed in my corner because it makes me sick to this day what I did to protect myself. My name is Amanda and that's my story. If you learn anything from me, I want it to be that you bettered yourself. That you didn't become a bully too. You are better then that. Just walk away. Live with the knowledge your bullies aren't happy. They have issues too. Walk away, brush it off your shoulders. Tune them out and live your life.

My first contact with bullying was in 2005 when I was in the 4th grade. My family had fallen apart because my mother was diagnosed with cancer. But being so young, my family decided not to tell me what was happening. All I knew was that my mother was extremely sick. From then on my life just turned upside down. My class was separated by levels, the smart kids in the back, the intermediate ones in the middle, and the "slow learners" in front, needless to say I was in front. Yes, I was bullied by the teacher. The school had been made aware of what was going on in my family, so all of the teachers were aware of my situation. But in Brazil when you are in the 4th grade, you don't change classes, nor teachers, you have one teacher for every subject except P.E., music and art. Well, the teacher I had, was just peachy, she would always call on me to answer questions about things we hadn't even learned yet. She ridiculed me, she loved to make fun of me, and every time I answered a question, even if I did answer it right, she would say it was wrong, and lecture me about how I didn't pay attention in class. Once when the class took a mid-term exam, she gave it back to the students, and corrected it out loud, so we knew what we did wrong. When she got to question 25 or something, she stopped and said she was disappointed with the entire class, because we should have gotten the question right, but only one of us did. She came up to me and said I was the only one, she looked at the answer and even though it was correct, she said she was wrong, I couldn't have been the one to get it right because I wasn't smart enough. Soon after, one of my class mates, also started bullying me, saying my parents didn't love me, so they left me in the middle of a forest and that I was raised by monkeys. He used to say I looked like a monkey man, and that I was too ugly for anyone to love. When I got home, I would tell my family, but nobody seemed to believe me, they were already worried enough. When I had to do projects my father would disapprove of all of them, tell me I was doing it all wrong, and that it wasn't good enough, and that I was stupid for not being able to come up with anything better. He kept saying I was making up excuses and that I was just saying my teacher and classmate were picking on me because I wanted attention, but that soon changed when I came home crying and told them the bully and teacher said I deserved what was happening to my family. My family contacted the school principal and headmaster, and the next day had a meeting, I asked them to change classes, but they told me they had to talk to my teacher, and she said she wouldn't allow it, because I was her best student and that I was her favorite. She said she wouldn't like me to change classes, because I was too smart to go to another class, because I brought up the class's GPA. So, I stayed in that class, and at the end of the year, even though I had the grades to go to 5th grade, my teacher failed me, she told me to my face I was too stupid to keep up with my classmates, and sooner or later I was going to fail anyway. I was at peace for two years. When tragedy struck me once again in 6th grade. One the second day of school my mother passed away. I missed 2 days of school, and when I came back the school literally said to me; "Your mother died? you'll get over it, now forget about her, and get on with your work." One of my best friends told me someone in school had made up a rumor I invented my mother died because I wanted attention. I was hated by everyone, even the ones that called themselves my friends. All I had were 3 actual friends.  That was the year I started cutting. To make things even worst some girls in my year decided to come up with rumors that I was giving boys a "good time." I didn't know what to do, because there was no way I could prove them wrong, all of the popular boys would confirm I was doing that. Suicide was a constant thought in my mind. The end of the year finally came, and I was out of that school, I transferred to a school where nobody knew my name. There I was able to start over, and make actual friends, or so I thought. My happiness soon came to an end, when on the 9th grade, the girl that made up all the rumors about me transferred to that same school. Once again I started cutting, but this time it was because she was ending most of my friendships, and my best friend was moving to another country. When my father came to me with a salvation, moving to the United States for a year. I was relieved when he told me that. I was finally going to be able to start fresh somewhere new. Once again the girl followed me, but this time she went to a different school, I was happy, I stopped cutting, and I felt like I belonged. When I came back it all went down hill again. I started school in a Brazilian school, I was miserable there, I had no friends, everyone judged me for the first month, and one day I started making a couple of friends. At the end of the year one of my friends left school, and when school started again, who was enrolled in my school, the one person I despise the most in the world. I was friendly, but all I wanted to do was break down and cry. I started cutting again, and the fights I still have with my sister never helped. See, for some odd reason, she is the reason for my anxiety and part of my depression. She always puts me down, and constantly compares me to people. She is the main reason for my anxiety and part of my depression. I can barely say I have a family now, all my father cares about is his new family and I never see him. My brother lives alone, and is the only one that tries, and my sister only cares about herself and her fake friends. I've been forced to take care of myself since I was 8. My sister is almost 33 and wishes or mother was still alive so she would do all the work for my sister. I wish my mother was still alive because I miss her, she was my rock, my everything. How can my sister only think about how she wouldn't have to be doing things herself if my mother was still alive? I would give up everything just to spend another second with her. She keeps trying to stop me from moving to the US, because she thinks I'm not ready. She blames me for everything. It is always my fault and I'm never good enough. She doesn't even know what I like to do. My father's girlfriend tries to break up my family and put us against each other, which apparently she was capable of doing. I have now attempted suicide 3 times. There's only one person that is keeping me going apart from my mother. All I think about is my time away from this hell, far from these people. People have judged me, made fun of me, ridiculed and even punished for the way I think, talk and act.