I am a nobody. Nobody to talk to, nobody cares about me.
I changed one day; went from being the victim to being the bully, and then back again. I had friends who would cut themselves, out of pain, anger, and depression.
At one school, I was the bully. Then I moved, and I was the victim. I learnt what it felt like, to hurt and have almost nobody.
I learned to live like I wanted to, and at the new school I was going from not being liked to being one of most known girls. It wasn't because I was pretty. It was because I was finally me.
And when I got happy in life, I moved back to the place where I was the bully.
I met my victim, and he said that he forgot my name, but he would never forget my face.
As time went on, my family grew to hate me. I couldn't cope with that, and even though I never tried to commit suicide, I thought about it many times.
My life passed by in a blur. Over time, the words my family had told me didn't mean a thing. I still had some family who loved me, and I was going to live for them.
The words that hurt me the most ceased to cause me pain. They were no longer whispered in my dreams, no longer haunted me when I walked this earth, people no longer had the faces of my demons.
Now I am happy, with people who love me.
The words, the painful words, were daggers in the wind.