I was only in elementary school when it all began. The bullying, I mean. I didn’t think it was bullying then, all I knew was that it felt awful. I was new at the school, we had just moved to town. And at first things were going great. I had two really good friends and we did tons of stuff together. And then, about nine months into the school year, everything changed – overnight.

My two best friends stopped talking to me – cold turkey – without explanation. No one else in school would talk to me. It was like the word had gone out: ‘don’t talk to Rachel’, but I couldn’t figure out what I’d done. After a while I could barely face going to school. I was in the nurse’s office all the time; I didn’t want anyone to see me crying. Later I found out that this one girl at school, somebody who didn’t even know me, decided it would be fun to get everyone to pretend I just didn’t exist.

Summer came and I was really lonely. I wanted to visit my old friends where we used to live, but my parents couldn’t keep driving me. They told me that things would get better next year, when we all started Junior High, and that all the girls would forget their “silly game.”

Well, my parents were wrong. When school started again, the silent treatment was still in force. Another new girl moved to town and for a while we were friends, and I felt better. But it didn’t last long. She was afraid of being shunned too. So she joined the other side.

Things went from bad to worse. Now instead of pretending I didn’t exist, the other kids would throw spitballs in my hair, jab pencils in my arm, push me into the lockers, and even make obscene phone calls to my house. When it got too bad I would leave school and go home, curl up on my bed with every stuffed animal I had, and try to shut it all out.

Finally, I stopped going to school altogether. My parents put me in another Middle School. Things were okay, but I was still afraid. I’d miss school a lot; just to make sure nothing bad happened. Finally, I told my parents I needed to talk to someone about this and they found me a therapist. I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, depression and anxiety. All from what had happened to me at school. No one had broken my arm, I didn’t have any bruises, but they had messed me up bad.

For a while I was home-schooled, until my parents found an alternative school for me that was smaller, didn’t tolerate bullying, and all the students take part in governing the class. Now I’m doing better, but I can still feel the sting of it all. I feel like I spent two years of my life going through torture that no one should ever have to go through.