“The journey to loving my body has been a long and painful one to endure. At age 11, I was bullied by middle schoolers into thinking I was the most hideous thing that could ever exist. I had a buck teeth, a face filled with acne, I didn’t wear makeup, had no idea on how to dress well, and I always kept a jacket tied around my waist because I was scared I would get my period at the most unforgiving time. One time, a girl came up to me, ripped my pigtail out, apologized and ran back to her group of friends who stood just there laughing. I knew the girl was probably dared to and did it for acceptance, but it hurt. I’ve never quite understood why people will fall from where they stand to bend over backwards for people that could care less about them. I started researching how to wear makeup, to look pretty, to be accepted just so people wouldn’t feel the need to pick on me. Only now do I look the way I want because I want to.”

“I have tattoos that cover my wrists to hide the scars from the pain I would inflict on myself. I suffer from depression and anxiety, and I’ve been sexually assaulted in my life twice. One was someone I’d just met, the other was someone I thought I could trust. Each happened during the time of my senior year in high school. The first time, my “friend” spiked my drink, thinking that if the guy she liked saw me drunk and sloppy, he’d find me unattractive and he’d like her instead. She was wrong. To this day she still denies it. The second time I was with someone I thought was my friend, and I was having back problems so he offered to give me a massage one day. We hung out at a place we used to in the past, and while he was massaging my back, it locked up and I couldn’t move. I told him this, which was my mistake. Many people won’t know what it’s like when your back gives out and you’re too paralyzed to move, and the person you thought you could trust to be around when you’re vulnerable takes advantage of you. I never told anyone. I just kept smiling.”

“What kills me the most is that I couldn’t fight back because I couldn’t move, so when I think about the incident, my mind wants to tell me that I let it happen. I know that’s not true, and the memories creep in at the most unexpected times, filling my mind with dread. I still shudder and scratch my skin. Rape is a subject that many people don’t understand, I certainly didn’t while it was happening to me. It took me years to actually decipher that what had happened was indeed that, and the sorrow and disgust that came over me was overwhelming. I used to think people could change, to give people the benefit of the doubt, no matter if you knew them in the past and were giving them a new chance. I was wrong. The heart is fragile, and mine has been broken by people more times than I can count.”