“You’re never going to be somebody.” The words assaulted my mind and continuously played like a broken record for years. Why me? What did I do wrong? I asked myself these words each day. Statistics show that one in four kids is bullied throughout their childhood or teen life, but I never thought that I’d be that one. I remember the eagerness I had to attend elementary school. The hairs on my body danced around, and I shook with anticipation as I counted down the days until I would enter that mysterious big building. Years went by, as I made new friends each year, teachers and students, and the school became my second home, offering security and comfort in every activity. That all changed when I reached the fifth grade; those comforting walls started to crumble and I lost my identity the day Maria arrived. From her petite structure to the pure childhood Winnie the Pooh symbols present on her backpack and clothing, she didn’t seem like she would ever be a threat. It wasn’t until her Grinch smile slithered onto her face and every past assumption I had disappeared. Verbally, physically, and emotionally, she tormented me and, like a predator, she had her mind set on getting me to crack.   

            Whenever Maria entered a room, her feet shook the floor as each stomp echoed. Everyone froze like statues and forced their eyes in the opposite direction, hoping that their silence would keep Maria away from them. Without hesitation, she would quickly make her way towards me and push up against my body, announcing each flaw. Maria’s smile stretched wider and her dark bushy eyebrows would rise higher as my smile grew smaller and my body caved in so far that my shoulders were almost touching. I did this because of the continuous disgusted looks she gave me as I ate, mimicking how fat I was by pulling at my skin. The hardy laughter rolled from her as she screamed at the top of her lungs that my skin color was weird and people would like me more if I was white.

      I started to hate myself; I sucked in my stomach and threw away the lunches my mom made so Maria couldn’t point out anything negative about me. Also, growing up being the only African-American family in my neighborhood and school, I took to heart what she said about the color of my skin. There wasn’t anyone else like me, so I really thought people would like me if I was white. I tried scrubbing my face harder each night hoping, praying I would get lighter.  

            Some days, a cloud of anger drenched Maria from head to toe and her body would tense up, while her fists would tighten and her nails would dig into the back of her palms as her eyebrows twitched. When Maria was like this, no trip to the principal’s office could stop her; she was going after someone, and that someone was me. As the sun kissed my skin, my friend Laura and I raced each other to see who could get the highest on the swing sets. A jolt knocked me off and onto my backside as I skidded into the mulch and it devoured my hair and bit my legs. Or, if I was hanging upside down on the jungle gym, I would be yanked by my ponytail as my stomach bounced against the ground, resulting in a warm stinging sensation on my body. There was also one time that I’ll never forget; while playing hide and seek in the woods, I saw Maria leap from one of the trees, but it was too late to run. With one quick thrust, rocks started flying at my sides like a machine gun. There have been so many creative ways that she has hurt me, but the result was always the same. Maria towered over me, clutching her sides as tears rolled down her face. I wanted to cry, too, but not for the same reason. My mind raced back and forth with a million comebacks prepared, but my mouth wouldn’t move. It was as if I was paralyzed, and all I could do was watch her enjoy my humiliation.

            The emotional toll I received from her abuse is what devastates me the most. My mom didn’t know what to do, pulling at her hair because no matter how many phone calls or advice she gave me things just got worse. I became an entirely different individual, stressing about every word I said. I made sure everything I wore and did was perfect so that no one could point out any flaws, because even the slightest negative remark made me feel like I committed a felony and the entire world was coming to an end. I also became very shy, losing many of my childhood friends because my body would just shut down and I started excluding myself from my normal activities like sports. It wasn’t until she moved the summer of six the grade that I realized how much control she had over me; I was her puppet; she pulled the strings. The way she changed me opened my eyes to how serious an issue bullying is and that benevolence is necessary because you never know what an individual could be going through.

     The verbal abuse I endured from her has made me the strong individual I am today, not ashamed of whom I am and never prejudiced towards any race. Also, the physical abuse has molded me into a strong headed individual, never afraid to express my opinions and standing up for individuals who can’t fight their own battles. Consequently, what I learned from that time in my life is that you should always treat others the way you want to be treated and only you can determine your fate. If you treat others with disrespect, think about how you would feel if it was happening to you; it would feel terrible. Furthermore, someone can make up as many things as they want about how you will turn out but those are just words, it’s your actions that decide what you will be. Furthermore, people can say what they want; words are just words. Actions decide what you will be. That’s why I’m glad I realized this and took my future into my own hands. Currently, I am taking initiative in college, striving for superb grades, getting involved in various academic activities and events that will teach me proper skills to succeed in my career.

  I don’t thank Maria for all the harm she caused me, but I do thank her for what she helped me become. From learning how to deal with her, I have developed into a vigorous and compassionate individual. There are probably various reasons of why she treated me that way, but it doesn’t matter, and if I could see Maria today I would tell her I forgive her.