Dear Karli R,

By: Natalie

What is toxic? Letting bullying get to your head, over and over again.

Karli. I could have used your entire name, but I won’t sink as low as you did. I am not a bully.

When I was in eighth grade, I was the stereotypical nerd. I had to wear glasses because contacts would cause horrible redness and irritability to my eyes. I had braces when everyone was starting to get them off. I was lanky and had no boobs. Basically, I was the girl the guys in my grade would never ask to the movies, or to the bowling alley. The cool girls in my grade got to do that. I was in love with H.M. It was such a cheesy cringe worthy fantasy, that seemed so distant and unachievable. Then I watched Never Been Kissed. I decided that I was going to be the Drew Barrymore in this situation, rising to popularity and landing Guy Perkins. I know in the end she realized that Guy was a piece of shit and ended up revealing her undercover identity, while standing in the middle of a baseball field waiting for Sam to give her a kiss. Her first kiss. In my version of the story I landed Guy and he turned out to be a good person. Guy was H.M.

I was living in la-la land. I thought that my spin off of Never Been Kissed was going to be the end of my story. I would live happily ever after and H.M. would fall in love with little eighth grade me. He would see me for the incredible (although I did not believe that I was incredible at the time) person I was. We would defy all odds. The popular girls would idolize me. I would wear cute cardigans with them and go to the mall, just like Drew Barrymore did. From the bottom of my heart, I believed this fantasy would come true. That is the saddest part of it all.

I was in a social studies class with H.M. and that was my chance in. We sat next to each other. Social studies was only three times a week, but on those days, I would wake up ecstatic. I would spend more time than usual picking out the perfect outfit and attempting to do my hair and makeup. Everyday I went to social studies, I would make a point to walk in two minutes late so that he would notice me. Every day he never noticed me.

I am not sure how she found out, but K.R, a popular girl in my class, came up to me after social studies and asked if I like H.M. I blushed and felt a complete wave of mortification smash into me.

“What? No!”

“I mean you can tell me! He is so nice, really. I can help set you guys up.”

I think that is how the conversation somewhat went. She decided to take me under her wing, and I accepted the offer. Was she the Regina George from Mean Girls? If I was the Katy in the scenario I did not mind. H.M was the Aaron Samuels and that is exactly how I wanted it to be.

The girl invited me to a sleepover with three of her friends. They were everything I was not. They were the girls I knew would become the stars of high school. Maybe this was my way in? They were so nice to me. They were not fake, they called me Nat- a fun nickname I hadn’t ever been called, and after school one of the moms would pick us all up and take us to get ice cream or our nails done. It was so fun! I was living such a great life.

My mom loved my new friends. I invited them over for the first time and told her the house had to look perfect, she had to be wearing an outfit that made her look like a Real Housewife, and there had to be cute snacks and hot chocolate waiting for us. She played the role perfectly. My friends loved her. We watched Gossip Girl in the basement, and then H.M. was brought up.

“Let’s prank call him,” K.R. said.

“Nat you should do it!! Remember *67.”

So, I did it.

“Hi this is the sex hotline; I’m calling because I want to let you know that we heard about your issue down there.” My friends started cackling. Then the worst thing that could happen, happened.

“Natalie?” The other line of the phone replied.

“Who is Natalie?” I answered shakily.

“K.R. texted me and told me it was you. Get a life you’re so embarrassing.”

The phone hung up. Tears started forming in my eyes. This was the worst feeling. I needed my friends right now.

“Oh my god you guys. That was so horrible my life is over,” I said between tears and anxiety.

“Natalie that was so embarrassing. You ruined your chances with him,” KR responded.

“Did I? What do I do,” I responded?

The girls laughed. This was strange to me but to my understanding, they were my friends and they were just trying to shrug it off and make me feel better.

“Not sure. Wait H.M. just texted me,” one of the other girls said.

“Oh my god. I totally forgot that I had facetimed him while you were on the phone.”

The girls started cackling.

“What?” I timidly responded.

“Get a life Natalie. Did you think we would actually be friends with you?”

They started laughing again.

“You are the ugliest girl in our grade.”

“Your mom is pathetic. This house is so gross.”

“Kill yourself.” Laughter.

They left laughing. My mom came downstairs smiling and asking me where they went? The bathroom? What should I say? I was not going to crush my moms’ heart. For the longest time I knew she was disappointed that her daughter was a social outcast. She felt bad for me, and she loved playing the role of the cool mom.

“They had to leave because K.R. remembered there was a group project due tomorrow,” I said.

All of this dialogue is not precise. I am trying my best to give you somewhat of an idea of how the events of my eighth and ninth grade years went.

I went to school miserable. It was never ending. Taunting, teasing, laughing, pointing, pushing, name calling…I cried more than five times a day. I showed up to class puffy eyed almost always. I tried ripping off my braces since the most common name I got was “ugly braces girl Natalie.” I also heard “greasy Natalie.” “Skinny fat Natalie”- ‘Look at her stomach and chicken legs.’ The worst is when I started high school. The girls, just as I had expected, became popular with the upper grades. So, the upper grades began making fun of me. There were normal popular people who were mature and could care less. To me it felt like the whole school was against me, which, when I look back on that year now, was so naïve of me to believe.

“Why did you come to this school. You should have been homeschooled,” this super pretty tenth grader said to me. K.R. and she were close friends.

I asked my mom if I could be homeschooled. I told her that it would be easier to manage a social life since I had so many friends. I could get all my weeks work done in a couple days, and then be able to hang out with all of my friends. She did not agree to the idea. This was the first time she noticed I was lying.

Every day a new batch of tears. The tears came and went. I thought I had finally gotten ride of them, but then back they came. A never-ending cycle. I thought the bullies would stop, but then back they came. I thought my orthodontist would finally remove my braces, but two weeks later he told me “I think you need them for another couple weeks.” I thought my life would somehow get better, over and over it didn’t.

Eventually, my life did get better. Did the bullying end? Sort of. They stopped noticing me and caring as much, but I was deemed a loser, lesbian, grease ball. I am not lesbian, nor do I have anything at all against LGBTQ individuals. It confused me why I was labeled that way? Did I look like a lesbian? What is a lesbian supposed to look like? Ugly? I knew I was ugly. The word lesbian should never be used to describe an “ugly” girl. This infuriated me. I had friends in the lesbian community. It hurt me to hear this word be used to describe a very unattractive girl-me.

I made friends. We were not popular. We were each other’s rocks. I began seeing myself differently. All of our movie nights, the first time we drank together, our nerdy little parties…I did not care about what anyone thought of me anymore. This was my safe zone. I finally got the braces off (hahaha) ! I started looking at myself in the mirror and thinking I was not that bad looking! Today I stand tall with confidence. I work a wonderful job, that I love. The office is mostly women, but not the ones who are bullies. Since my experience in eight and ninth grade I have learned to not let words affect me over and over again. The cycle has been broken. I am sure people still have their issues with me, my looks, my clothes. Who knows? I do not care. I have my supports, I have my amazing cat, and I live a life that I am proud of, removed fully from toxicity.