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Crying the first week of school



I used to cry the first week of school, not just the first day. I cried due to the grave disruption in my routine and knowing I was in for another 180 days of constant bullying. 

When I was in 6th grade, I came home with a Migraine and had to be given a lukewarm bath as I had hyperthermia (no air conditioning in the middle school in 1990). 

In 7th grade, I passed out in gym class because of overexertion caused by the heat and crying and had to go home early. The tears were impossible to hide. 

People kept asking me why I was crying. They invented names for me like "puddles". Looking back, that nickname sounds funny, but what I endured was anything but. 
I am reminded that my Lord and Savior endured much pain for my sins in His incarnate life on earth. He endured the pain, not returning insult. This thought recently dawned on me. While I certainly felt I didn't deserve the treatment I received and the years of damage it caused me, I was an am still a fallen person living in a fallen world. 

There is an influence of poverty, crime and abusive home situations in my town, thus there were and are still many broken, angry and hurting kids. I was not and still am not above adversity. This doesn't justify willfully abusive behavior, but does finally offer me an explanation.I credit Jesus and years of therapy for arriving at this conclusion. I am now able to forgive (though it is, for me, an ongoing action) and to move on.
I caused much hurt in my adolescent years to my mother especially as she lived full time with an undiagnosed teenager who got worse with autism as her brain grew and hormones raged. I went from cowering in fear from bullies to fighting them physically and emotionally. I thought every peer, police officer and nurse was my personal enemy.While I will always be extra cautious of others for my own protection, I will put my full trust in my Savior and remember, "A soft answer turns away wrath." Proverbs 15:1
I stopped crying my sophomore year. I’m not exactly sure why. My dad had died 3 months earlier, and I think I thought that one of the worst things that could happen to me already had. I think a part of me also subscribed to the false conclusion that my life would be a constant, non-stop nightmare.

I almost took my own life due to this view. 

Things did get worse; my life was threatened. Was it just talk? I didn’t stick around to find out. 

I dropped out. 

Then, my mom called the school and I was assigned a tutor for most of senior year.

Despite my peers voicing their disgust, I attended graduation.

For the next 19 years, life would be full of strife and struggle, but I did have my mom who advocated tirelessly for my well-being. I came to know Jesus and accepted Him into my life. Some of my family-my “real” family came to accept me. I was hospitalized over 20 times, but managed to go on two small vacations with my family.

My life will never be the way I wish it could be, but it has turned out to be better than I thought it could be.


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