Here at school, I was never called by name. Students would call me names, God knows how many, and the teacher would just call me student 91, as if I was nothing more than a number on the class list.
The bullying got worse, it wasn't just name-calling anymore, it got physical. My body was covered in bruises: arms, legs, everywhere. I was like a punching-bag. Whenever they needed someone to take out their anger on, I was there, their outlet.
I felt hopeless.
My mom started to notice, but I just spat out excuses to ease her worry.
I was tired from all of this, so tired. Every day was the same abuse, the same pain, the same helplessness. Was I made for this? Could this really be my destiny?
No, I wasn't. I got up, gathered all my strength. If the school can't stand up for the broken, there is someone out there who will.
The police