I can remember being bullied for being different since I was six years old. I was a shy, quiet creative and smart kid, and thirsted for learning. At that age the namecalling was typical elementary school level; I was called “teacher’s pet” and “nerd.” It bothered me, but I learned to shake it off.
By 6th grade it got harder; I always had been bigger than my other classmates, both in height and weight. I was still the shy smart kid, and now I was a target. I was called “freakshow”, “loser”, “fatass”, “behemoth”. I was pushed in the halls, by people I didn’t know. I would find garbage shoved into my locker, or gum put on my chair. Going to school every day became a nightmare.
The worst bullying didn’t come until high school, though, until I came out as bisexual and helped begin an LGBT support group after school. The name calling continued, but my “peers” upgraded to writing homophobic slurs on my locker, keying my car, and even destroying my college portfolio that was on display. I lost friends I used to think were close, they called me “sinner” and “faggot” and that I would burn in hell. They booed me at graduation, screaming “queer” and “homo.”
After 12 years of being the weird kid, and becoming an outcast, I was broken. I suffered severe depression and anxiety, and I was not good to myself. I had two suicide attempts before I was 20. It was a dark time for me, but there was light in my future.
After I graduated high school, I got out of that hurtful place and found my people. I attended art college, where I met beautiful souls who accepted me for who and what I was, and showed me there was still love in the world, and through that learned to love myself again.