When you think of sixth grade, you think of a time of innocence; one of the last years you can be considered a child, where your immaturity can be excused. Those super awkward stages of puberty when boys stop becoming icky and it’s no longer acceptable to play with dolls.

In sixth grade I was there, awkward, insecure, the whole nine yards. I had a few best friends and my family was always there for me but middle school was new and strange. There had been those “Wanna go out?” (but not really) types of relationships along those lines but nothing serious. Until the middle of sixth grade, when this boy asked me out, like really asked me out. I was so shocked, I thought it was the best thing in the world. Truthfully, this had been the first time I’d ever talked to the kid, so I wasn’t sure how this was going to go. The beginning was good, I had my first kiss, thought I had my first love. Things got more serious and that was my first mistake.

It got kind of weird; if I went off with friends he got mad. If I couldn’t talk on the phone he got mad. If I couldn’t come over that day or at that time he got mad. Yet no matter the situation, he could hang out with his friends. Now the thing was, he didn’t just get mad, he got mean. Saying things just to make me cry, making me believe I was worthless, like I would never find someone else, constantly telling me “you know, I’ve never actually dated a fat girl." The words stung and burned and tore me apart, but he loved me. He encouraged anorexia; I went months without having a real meal, but he was proud.

Why didn’t this make me leave? Why was I so naïve? I took it all, and I took it all in pride, it’s disgusting. But there came a time when his anger towards me doing things he didn’t like got bad; where his words became kicks and slaps and punches. That’s when the emotional pain became physical, but he loved me. I’ll never forget the day we walked to his house after school, and he was degrading me and saying horrible things. I was crying and I told him “stop being a jerk” and *bam* there it was instead of his words punching me in the face it was him actually punching me in the face. He then picked me up and threw me against the couch. He left, he left me there with his sister consoling me and his mom telling me “If you really love him, you’ll accept the way he is." WHAT THE HELL? Why, why did you stay here? Why did you let all of this happen?

I truly thought he loved me, I believed everything he said. I hated myself because of him, but I still thought I loved him. Then there was the day “If you really love me you’ll have sex with me." He’d mentioned it time and time again and I always brushed it off with “We’re too young” or “I’m not ready” but this time he wouldn’t let me brush it. I said no, no means no right? I cried and screamed and wanted to throw up. Why oh why did you stay? I really thought he loved me.

I still thought he loved me even after that, because now I was living everything he told me I was. I was pathetic, I was worthless, I was unlovable to anyone else. That was my mindset. But I was getting tired, physically exhausted from the abuse, the mental, physical and sexual abuse. I wanted out, I NEEDED OUT. I was done, and that’s what I told him. “This is over, I do not want to be your girlfriend anymore” and I walked away. This time he was crying. I felt so free, so good.

But then I remembered, he made me lose all my friends and had already told everyone at school that I was a w****.I had no one. I walked down the halls and literally groups of people would taunt me “W****!” “S***” “Scumbag” I took it all. Then I finally decided that somebody needed to know what was happening to me, what had happened to me. I reached out to my mom, I told her he raped me. She was in tears by the end of my story and explanation, my dad just wanted to kill him. I convinced her that I didn’t need help, or to talk to anyone. But I did, so I tried to reach out to a faculty member whom informed another faculty member.

This spiraled in the exact direction I didn’t want it to. Now I got “Why would you accuse him of something like this?” “Why would you try to ruin his life like this?” Now when I walked down the halls I got “psycho” “liar” along with the initial variety of names. Then there was the day I ended up in the guidance office and was told “Listen, he didn’t rape you. You don’t want to ruin his life and reputation like this. You need to tell everyone the truth." Now the names got worse, nobody wanted to talk to me. I was constantly afraid of people judging me. All because I had to tell them; that the hardest thing that’s ever happened to me was a lie. Now everyone thought I was really crazy. I was in my own little hell. Teachers had me pegged as a horrible person without even giving me a chance. It was horrible. I was in this horrible place, where I believed the things people said to me and about me, I didn’t want to go to school, I didn’t want to do anything. I hated myself, and there were so many times that I thought about ending it all. Just giving up this fight, I started to cut. Nothing in my life was under my control, but that was. I thought it was the end of the world.

It wasn't. I didn't want to let anyone know that I was hurting, or let them know that they were hurting me. They couldn't know they had so much power. I faked happy; every single day. Then suddenly people started talking to me again, They didn't realize how much the few words we shared meant. They had no clue what my life had actually become, or the coping mechanisms I was using. There was one night that I'll never forget; I looked at myself in the mirror and for the first time I didn't see the person that all of these people claimed me to be. I saw me. Not a W****, or a S***, or a Scumbag; just me. I cried; but for the first time in months these were happy tears. There's days still years later where I bring myself back to some of these memories and find the sadness that seems entirely unshakeable. Then I remember how many people love me and are there for me, and I can't help but smile knowing how far I've come. I learned so much, and as much as I regret it and wish none of it ever happened, I know that it was all a good lesson to learn. I know what real love is, and I have a strong definition of what it does not involve. When you think the world is ending, don’t let it. You’ll pull through. But if you have no hope left, there's still many options for help. Ophilia's Place is a beautiful example of a helping hand for body image struggles, and all around empowerment. There's suicide helplines, even if you don't believe they'll help it's worth a try. To Write Love On Her Arms, can also point you in the right direction. Even talking to someone in a similar situation may help, it's your life and it's worth finding help.