When I was a teenager, I was short and had a huge nose that just didn't seem to belong on my face. I also wore braces for four years. Put it this way, my own friends called me metal-mouth, witch, midget and Gargamel (the ugly big-nosed sorcerer on The Smurfs). Those names really hurt, so much so that I remember spending hours hidden in a closet crying. Little did I know that my so-called friends were bullies. Back then, I just thought that maybe they were joking around or maybe they were right because they were beautiful, they had all the friends and boyfriends, and they were worldly. Around them, I never felt pretty or attractive. I felt small, ugly and worthless. Even though I was smart, I was crucified for having a brain (called names like bookie, nerd, bookworm), so I hid that, too.

In high school, everything on the surface was normal. I was an A student and played four varsity sports. But the taunts continued, and eventually I started to believe them. I became my own worst enemy and the worst bully of all, because I bullied myself as badly as the real bullies did. I told myself I could never get a boyfriend because I looked like a ten-year-old boy. I lashed out at my parents. I started collecting knives. I forced a girl at school to do my homework repeatedly. Just for once, I wanted to be the mean girl … the one in control. That got nipped in the bud pretty quickly. That girl had a big sister who stood up for her and told me off. Horrified and humiliated, that was the last of my stint as a bully. But things didn't get any better. The emotional abuse from my bully friends continued, and eventually my own self-abuse went from verbal to physical, and I started cutting to release the build-up of all the negativity inside of me.

Scary, I know. So what did I do? I wrote, I journaled, and I found someone to talk to—a wonderful, generous neighbor who took hours out of her days just to listen to me when I needed to talk. She owed me nothing but still gave her time, even though she had a family and responsibilities of her own. I am forever grateful to her for simply being there. And you know what? All those experts who tell you that it will get better? Well, they’re right … because it did get better. But the thing is, you have to make the change and you have to want to make the change. A very wise person (my mom) once said to me, you can’t change other people, but you can change yourself. You can change how you respond to those people. In my case, I focused on my studies and cut off my relationship with the bullies with my parents’ support. However, this fledgling self-confidence didn't mean that the bully-ghosts of my past would stay buried.

My focus on academics in high school led me to receive a full scholarship to a college in Maine. Colby was a predominantly white school, and once more, I felt like an ugly outsider. I wasn't white. I wasn't thin. I wasn't blonde. I was invisible. Given those feelings, the insecure bully voice inside of me decided that it wanted to stage a comeback. And come back with a vengeance it did, wreaking havoc on my life, right after my best friend died in a car accident my junior year in Paris. As a result, I became anorexic and bulimic, diseases I fought for years, all the while struggling to figure out who I was. But how could I, when I couldn't even stand up to myself?

Eventually, I realized that I had to get rid of my inner bully once and for all … but this time, I needed help to do so. I needed help to silence that harmful voice inside of me for good. And so, I put my fear and shame to the side, and asked for help. I first sought therapy in Paris which didn't work out (they threatened to hospitalize me), and then again at my college health center in Maine, where I saw a psychotherapist two to three times a week for over a year. Thank you to Dr. Patti Hopperstead—she was the tipping point. Asking for help is hard but help is always available when you need it, whether it’s from a parent, friend, sibling, neighbor, relative, teacher, doctor or an organization. Do not give up if you reach out and don’t find what you are looking for. Reach out again—you are too important not to. Trust me on this. If I hadn't asked for help and continued to ask for help when I did, I would not be here today.