Mostly, I handled it because of my friends. They didn't stand up for me, but they let me sit with them at lunch. That was enough for me. They were cool. They were nice and funny and respectful.

Until they weren't.

I told them how I felt. I felt depressed. I thought it was something that would just go away because at the time, I didn't know that I had depression. They got so angry. That day, they swore and screamed at me for being an "ungrateful b*tch".

"You b*tch! Kids in Africa are starving! You have no right to be depressed!"

"Can you just stop complaining? People have it so much worse than you!"

The thing is, I knew that. I knew that so damn well. I knew that people had it harder than me! That's the freaking reason why I hate myself so damn much!

I didn't want to feel this way. They had it worse than me, I knew that.

That's why I believed every word they said calling me a worthless piece of crap.