My life was like any other kid's life, any other kid who was bullied relentlessly. I was pushed and shoved, hit, and told that I didn't deserve to be here. But of all these kids, only one was there for all five years of elementary school. Luckily I had my "Best friend". She had always helped me, protected me, and stood up for me. We met when we were three, staying friends all the way through school till fifth grade. She was the only one who knew what was happening at home. She was the only one who knew me for longer than the school had us enrolled. She was also aware of how many times I had to move around, lucky enough to keep going to the same school. My luck was amazing, but living in Vegas you learn quickly that luck doesn't last forever. Fifth-grade year, my bullies just got more relentless, but I still had my "best friend", or so I thought, once I had told her that I had to move schools, she turned. The next few days she ignored me, let me get bullied. To the point of me getting physically hurt. But three days before I left, my mother had found a way for me to stay . . . if I wanted to.

I had no one, no reason, and no will to stay, she had killed it. She had picked on me for the same reasons everyone else did, calling me a "crybaby" and "spoiled" then one thing I heard, one thing she whispered under her breath, finally broke me. Words I never thought could come out of her mouth . . .

"I can't believe I called you a friend." When I heard it, I froze. I don't know what she was thinking, what she thought she knew, but I didn't care anymore. The first chance I got I left, not looking back one bit. I lost someone I trusted. The last few days were brutal and painful, not just mentally. I was left with marks, ones that were ignored by those around me. Left by someone I thought I could trust. Scars that will never heal.

Now all I have left is my grandfather, the one who protected me from the cruel world I was thrown into by my mother and father. My father was abusive and took his anger out on us, but as long as my grandfather was there we were all ok. Until the day my mother pulled us out of school. She had only taken us out one time before, when we had doctor appointments. But this was different. As the car pulled up in front of his house, we knew, all of us knew. That dreadful feeling you get when you see most of your family sitting in one place. That only happened when it was huge. It was obvious, so obvious. It took me no time to figure it out. He was gone, less than a year after I lost my "best friend," I lost my grandfather. Who was I supposed to trust now? Who was on my side? At his funeral I did nothing but cry. I guess this irritated my mother because she pushed me towards the man who did nothing but hurt me. Neither of them shed a tear, and neither wanted me.

At least that's how it felt. My mother became . . . less involved after he had left, not caring about my schooling anymore, as long as I passed with an A or B. My father moved and I saw him less and less, until I lost contact with him, not something I regret doing. Then my life shifted, I started moving around more, not with my mother but with other family, moving in with my aunt during sophomore year, then back with my mother, in my grandmother's house, during junior year. But who knows where I'll be during senior year. I've tried three different therapists, but none could help me, two quit after a few sessions with me, and . . . I couldn't do that to another, I closed myself off more and more, not being able to open up.

After a while, I lost touch with my emotions, having been bullied most of my life, I felt alone, isolated, and like any emotion was bad. I hid when I was sad, happy, or in pain. I learned that the world doesn't look at who you are, or where you're going. I learned that if you want to survive, you have to work, look, and watch. The world will never be a safe place, and you may never be able to trust anyone, but in order to survive you have to learn to trust yourself more than anyone else. I was left to myself most of my life. I may never trust anyone in my family, and I definitely will never forgive them. Who could blame me, they all left me to raise myself. Left me, bleeding and scared alone when I needed someone. They abandoned me more than once, left me for dead when I was hurt, yet called for help expecting an answer.

Someone once asked me, "What was the hardest lesson you had to unlearn?" I didn't have an answer then, but I do now. A lesson I still haven't unlearned. That you can't trust, without being hurt. I was thrown into a place where I was hurt every time I trusted, by those closest to me. My mother, father, "best friend", grandfather, aunt, cousins, and even my grandmother. To protect myself I hid my heart away in a cage that no one can reach, keeping it away from every person that could hurt me, even those who have the slightest chance to hurt me. I was never and will never give any one that chance. My heart was broken too many times to let anyone in again. But the betrayal of my "best friends" and grandfather were the worst.

Other family that betrayed me was my aunt and cousins. They abandoned us and cut all ties to us when they moved out of town. Then they came back acting as if nothing had happened. My aunt would fight with my mom and cut us all off again and again, expecting us to just let her back in. Her kids learned from this, lessons I wish they could forget, the idea that it's fine to leave those you love behind, just to walk back in their life. Their step dad is not any better, groping, grabbing, and looking places he shouldn't, yet they all brush it off as if it were normal. I guess in our family it kinda was.

My grandmother didn't really relate to the family, not caring about one as individuals, but rather keeping communication with us out of convenience. Using us as a means to thrive. My sisters ignore the ties and connections in the family, only caring about themselves. Not caring who they hurt as they leach off of others. My step dad only cares about my mother and how she sees him, acting as if we are minions he can command. Nitpicking every action we have. My uncle, only keeping contact with my grandmother and not caring about the rest of our family. Never visiting and never talking to us.

Then finally there is me in the family, the black sheep, the one that goes unnoticed, unseen, unheard. The one that can hide by simply existing. My family taught me one lesson, the only one I found important, don't trust those who have any way to turn, that means they can turn on you. My life started off as normal, normal from the standpoint of someone who was bullied. Bullied by those around me, family, and strangers. I lost everyone that loved me, everyone I trusted, and now no one will ever see my heart again.