I know what it’s like.

I know what it’s like to fall to the ground, and to not be able to get back up. Furthermore, I know what it’s like to not have anyone help you get back onto your feet after you’ve been thrown to the ground. You look at me, angry. I know what you want to say. You want to say things like “no you don’t” or “you’re lying.” Either that or you’ll lie with words like, “it’s never happened to me.” But I know that look in your eyes. It was in mine, not that long ago. And now you’ll hold your breath, count to ten, and pray that it was just a lucky guess.

It wasn’t.

I know what it’s like, and although you may never believe me, that’s okay. All I really want you to know right now is that there’s someone that cares. Someone that realizes the hurt and the suffering. Someone who notices when you’re trying to hold back the tears and someone who picks up on the act you’ve sworn to play. But you can’t be weak. So you hold your head high and show that it doesn’t bother you.

But it does.

You are hiding. You’re hiding from the world and everything that comes with it. You’re hiding from everything you never wanted to be, but somehow became. It wasn’t your fault, of this I will now assure you because you never deserved to be treated that way. You look at me, angry again, and say, “Then why did it happen?” I think a better question would actually be ‘why did it happen for so long?’ but that’s not the question you ask, so I won’t try to answer it right now. Instead, I look at you straight in the eyes and say, “because they saw something in you, something that made them afraid.” You laugh at me. “Afraid?” You say, mockingly.

I wish there was another way to explain it.

They were afraid of the strength that you possessed. They were afraid of your personality, and the way you weren’t afraid to be yourself. They were afraid of the way you looked at the world and saw a thing of beauty. These are the words I am longing to tell you, but can’t. You wouldn’t understand, not because it wouldn’t make sense, but because you don’t want to believe that your greatest strengths turned you into a victim. Going home with black eyes and open wounds, you want to believe that they are nothing more than cowards.

But you won’t.

Their words pierced your memory and their actions cut too deep, staining your skin with hopelessness and scar tissue. You cry in the night, silently, afraid that someone will hear you and discover your secret. People often wonder as to why bullying is kept a secret. The people who ask that question have obviously never been bullied. You nod your head when I say this, as it’s an understanding we both share. We hide what’s happened because of shame. What if we really did do something wrong? What if we can never be loved? What if we’re not good enough?

We are.

Their actions cut us like knives, and yet we’re strong enough to hold on. That is what makes us good enough. And I am here to show that you are loved and I am here to promise that you never did anything wrong. And yes, the tears may stain your cheeks, and your heartbeat may seem to be fading like the days you lost because of hatred, but you are beautiful. So when they finally stand up to take you down, you show them that you are good enough. Because you are.

I know what it’s like.

I know what it’s like, and so do you. We are strong – stronger than they think. We are beautiful – beautiful because we can show our wounds. We are loved – loved because we have each other. We were the broken, now we are the ones who got back on our feet to fight for days free of violence and neglect. We are back on our feet to show that we can win this battle if we fight it together.