When I was a teenager things were hard.

Life was hard.

In general, we were facing social issues in our schools, such as the beginnings of programs such as ‘no child left behind’ and schools with extremely little in the way of funding. Gay rights were just starting to become an issue. Our country was in the middle of a war overseas, and everyone knew someone who had enlisted and shipped out, or was planning on doing so rather quickly.

We lived in a poor state. In a poor area. Attended school in a poor city. The differences in class were always terribly obvious. The kids with money had perfect hair, perfect clothes. The rest of us? Hand-me-downs, cheap used clothes from Good Will… Dollar store make-up… it…sucked.

But the root of the problem of where I grew up started way sooner than High School. No.

The first time I was bullied, I was in the second grade.

The. Second. Grade.

I was seven years old.

And the world? Seemed to scream out: HUSH.