Having posted snip-its here and there already about my life, I thought it would be a good opportunity to share my very own "It Gets Better" story. I'm far too shy for a camera, but I hope my words suffice. As the reader may have noticed from my brief bio, I was raised in the semi-rural south. It's a small-ish town, but a highly conservative, very religious one. When I wasn't getting teased for being Mormon, I was being tripped, beaten, shoved and verbally abused about my sexuality. This particular blog entry may have some triggering phrases, so I encourage those reading it to proceed with caution.

When the kids in middle school found out I was Mormon, it was like bullying Christmas for them. I had friends from every "clique" around, but that didn't protect me from bullying. I was told I wasn't a Christian, that I worshiped in a cave, and I was repeatedly asked how many wives my father had. Looking back, it wasn't so bad, but at the time I felt as thought it were the end of the world. That wasn't to come until high school.





I came out to my friends the summer between 8th grade and my freshman year of high school. They had pretty much figured it out, anyway. I hated the clothes that the other girls my age wore because of the way the shirts fit on my arms (it was REALLY annoying, okay?), so I began to wear baggy/boy clothes. They were comfortable, I didn't feel restrained and it's not like I was trying to impress anyone, anyway. As soon as I did that, the "popular" kids began to target me.





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It started out with words. "Dyke," they would call me as they tripped me. My most memorable one happened when I was a sophomore. I had stayed after school for track practice and had just left my last class. I turned the corner, looking down (as I generally did), and one of the football players shoved his shoulder into mine, sending me to the ground. I stood up, angry and embarrassed. I demanded to know why he knocked me down. "I saw you look at my girlfriend, you stupid bitch." I began to cry and left, leaving his laughter behind me. The anxiety gripped in my chest. It felt like I would never be happy again.





In a previous article , I touched a bit on my cutting. The abuse wasn't the only factor in it. I started cutting pretty shortly after that jerk shoved me. Things really started to escalate from that point on. Between the abuse and the bullying at school, I tried killing myself a handful of times. I used pills every time, but I never really took enough to land myself in a hospital, just give myself a terrible tummy ache.





My cutting peaked when I was a junior. Everything really felt like it was falling apart then. I was active in sports and clubs and choir, and to some extent it anchored me. However, there was this part of me...this pit in my chest that I felt nothing could fill. I ended up doing a report for a class on bi-polar where I began to wonder if this illness had anything to do with the way I was feeling. I convinced my parents to get me tested for it and sure enough, I was diagnosed when I was 16.





I was put on Lamictal shortly thereafter and it seemed to help, at least until I found out my ex-girlfriend was now dating my former best friend. I was thrust back into my depression and I lied to my parents about my medicine working. I resumed cutting, but didn't try killing myself again. That didn't stop me from feeling like my world was crashing around me.





My senior year was a lot different. I was older, I had healed some over the summer and I was excited to see what I could do that year. I threw myself in to my advanced placement classes and my Latin III class. I was excited and I had a new lease on life. It's hard to say what changed. Whether it was my overwhelming need to get out of this town as quickly as possible, or maybe I just decided I had outgrown those feelings of despair. I don't know what it was, but I'm so glad that it happened.





I wish that I could offer some of you the key to happiness, but that's something you'll have to figure out on your own. I guess, in a way, the key is you. Those people that shove you, call you names, and do vulgar things just to get under your skin? They're nothing. They're just as insecure as you are, if not more. Most of the jackasses who graduated with me didn't go on to do much. In fact, a lot of them are either working at factories or not working at all. What goes around surely goes around. I will say this: I always had someone to talk to. If you feel like you don't have anyone, please talk to someone on here. My email address is on my profile and I would be more than happy to be an unbiased ear for you. There's also the HotMissa Hotline , should you find my responses too slow.





It does get better. I can promise you that much. High school sucks most of the time. If you can make it through that, you can make it through anything.