I wish I could say that I've always been a strong person and that I never let people phase me. I wish I could say that I didn't do most of my crying because of classmates, who tore me down instead of helping me. I wish I didn't feel like an absolute loser because I let people dictate how I should feel about myself. I wish I didn't have a naturally trusting nature, and I wish I didn't try to always believe the best in people.

But wishing against the past gets you nowhere, and here I am, wanting to finally address the people who tormented me. Even if some of them never read it, or never change their ways, at least I shared my story and helped others realize that just because certain kids weren't raised to always treat with kindness, it doesn't mean that anything was wrong with you. I still have trouble believing that none of it was my fault.

I wish being bullied wasn't part of my story, but it is.

I spent years hoping people never found out some of the things I'm about to write, but I can't let it control me anymore. Here it is, all of what I can remember. This is my story, my side. Finally, in my own words.

I was bullied pretty much from elementary school up to the junior year of high school. Sometimes, it was for stupid things, like my hair being puffy, or my acne. Other times, it was just downright malicious. It was the worst when I used to live in Indiana. I had a skin rash on my leg for a couple of weeks once, and the popular girls and guys in my grade told everyone I had an STD, and other worse things I don't want to repeat. About a third through fifth grade, two girls a couple of years older than me would say "EWWWW!" really loudly whenever they saw me in the halls. Everyone would look. It embarrassed me, and I cried every time.

One of my tormentors in my grade had a field day once because while going through the lunch line, I accidentally grabbed two cookies instead of one. I tried to put one back, which was stupid I know, but I never over thought things back then. I was young. The lunch lady, who happened to be my bully's mother, told me to keep it. Next thing I knew, her daughter was telling everyone, and I was mocked for a long time.

I was mocked because I accidentally touched two cookies and tried to return it. What a world. Coincidentally, this same girl found out I asked out a popular boy and was declined, and she thought it was really funny. Everyone loved that one too. I remember one day, while I was sitting with her and her friends at a lunch table, she loudly asked one friend if she remembered my rash. The friend shook her head, to which she laughed and asked, "You don't remember that?" Those words still repeat in my head, nearly eight years later.

I don't remember every case. It's all a teary blur. Once two girls in my grade laughed in my face until I cried and had to cover my ears, and was eventually pulled out of class by the guidance counselor. She gave me some cake and told me not to worry about it. I was made fun of on the bus because I was multiracial. These things are so silly and I ask myself why I didn't say anything.

But to a young girl just trying to figure out who she is, it quickly gave me the message that it was my fault. I was ugly and didn't deserve to be happy in school. School was never a happy place for me. And I hate that that was stolen from me. When I left Indiana my sophomore year of high school to live in New Jersey, I vowed that things would be different. For the most part, it was. Until my junior year.

Honestly, life in Lodi wasn't that bad. I felt right at home fast. I made friends quickly, and I think a guy even had a crush on me, which had never happened before in my life. I honestly thought my days of being bullied were over. Then, enters my now ex-boyfriend. Our friendship before we started dating wasn't really a friendship at all. It was toxic. I was in love with him and would do anything to make him notice me.

And one night I made the worst mistake of my life, and I sent him a picture. It wasn't everything, but it was enough. Two of his girlfriends saw it on his phone, one girl I actually considered a friend, and what followed was the worst year of my life.

I don't remember how I first found out others had seen it, but I got plenty of anonymous messages on an app following. "Everyone's seen it you know. It's disgusting." "I have it on my phone and I've sent it." A lot more making fun of my body. Two of the girls who saw it, who I also thought were friends, tweeted insults about me almost every day. And every time, they created a hashtag about what a great team they were.

One of my friends overheard people call me a slut. My ex promised me he never sent it out, and that thought used to comfort me and has been a big part of my recovery, but I don't think I believe that now. In one weak moment where I just wanted to feel special, it was now the talk of the school. People I never even spoke two words to, now knew me and saw me in an intimate way. I felt violated. I felt like a piece of trash that no one would ever want. All because I was friends with the wrong people, who didn’t have my best interests at heart. And all because I loved someone.

I couldn’t believe I let it happen again. Unfortunately, this is where my self-harm began. That first cut is something I will always come to regret. One of the girls who cyberbullied me eventually apologized, which I appreciate. I mean, who usually ever gets an apology? But unfortunately, the scars on my body will never fully heal. I consider this girl a friend again, but my view of her will forever be changed.

Senior year wasn't that bad. I had some run-ins with people but the heavy bullying pretty much stopped there. But those wounds have never healed. Call me weak, call me any name you want. Because I've been through hell and back and no one will take that away from me. The tears are full on coming now because all I wanted my whole life was just for one person to stick up for me and tell me it wasn't my fault. I wanted one person to defend me when I wasn't there. I wanted to mean that much to someone. I wanted to walk into school without shaking legs. I never imagined laughter would haunt me, but sometimes it does. I know in a lot of ways, I asked for it. I made mistakes and paid for them. I still am, and I'm now a wife and mother.

I wish I could tell my bullies that I forgive them. I wish I could say that those memories are far behind me. I wish I could say I've gotten stronger, but since I'm still crying about it, I'm not so sure that I have. I know it's good to forgive those who hurt us, but seeing my daughter crawl around and being afraid to send her to school one day, I just can't. I can't say I forgive you all yet, but I do understand you.

Actually, I do and I don't. I understand why you picked on me. It was fun. It made you feel superior, and I know that must have been an intoxicating feeling. I know it most likely wasn't me personally, you just needed someone weak. But what I don't understand is how you can live your life knowing you broke someone down. Hurt their soul and made them not want to live. Made them have to live with the fact they would never look their mother in the face again because they just wanted the pain to stop.

Made someone want to take their own life. You tortured someone that much, and you can still sleep at night. How can you be okay with that? How can you not feel guilty? How can people be friends with bullies and still view them as a good person? And that's why this article isn't just for my bullies.

It's for the people who saw what was going on with me and stayed silent. It's for the ones who pretended to be my friend because they lived and thrived off of the drama, but cut me up and laughed at me behind my back. I have a lot of people that I have to learn to forgive, even if they never ask for forgiveness and even if they've forgotten. And I think that's one of the hardest things in life. Forgiving, and not being able to forget. God, I wish I could.

There is one thing I am thankful for though. You know, it's hard to stand up tall when your knees are wobbling, but I got the chance to do it when I was home, surrounded by people who always made me feel loved and important. I forgot that I was ugly at home. I forgot that no one liked me most of the time. I forgot I had an ugly body. I could be who I wanted without paying a price. I'm fortunate for that because not everyone has that peace to go to. I know I am not the only person in the world that has been bullied, and I know I won't be the last.

I do count my blessings, and I'm blessed for the few true friends I did have. You know who you all are, and I do too. I know who was real and who was fake. And you "real" ones literally saved me every day. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for that. From someone who was bullied all through life, I think there's a special place in wherever we end up for the people that truly loved me, and who truly never laughed along with anyone else. That was the default. Making fun of Cheyenne was always the factory setting, the easy way out.

And I can't imagine a more beautiful person than one who didn't. To anyone who doesn't bully and to anyone who sticks up for those with small voices. You are angels.

To my bullies, you really did a number on me. I'm still healing, and I don't know if that process will ever be finished. I'm still repairing what was broken every day. There's been a lot of tape over cracks, and the tape peels off whenever I see your faces on Facebook or Twitter. Believe it or not, I'm friends on Facebook with a lot of my bullies. (One of my bullies is good friends with a very close friend of mine.) They've no doubt forgotten. I envy them for that. But I hope one day to have forgiveness in my heart and release myself from the anger. In the end, it doesn't hurt anyone but me. I hope when I tell my daughter these stories, that she doesn't view me as a failure. I hope she realizes that history will not repeat itself, and if anyone messes with her, they have to go through me. And I don't wish that on anyone.

I know with anyone else, this article would end with telling the bullies that they were wrong about me, that I am beautiful and stronger now.

But I can't.

I still have so many things that I struggle with. Crippling anxiety, depression, self-harm, self-consciousness, overwhelming emotions and sensitivity are the constant leftovers. I'm a loser, but I guess I wrote this to tell my tormentors that I didn't forget. And I hope one day, they feel sorry, and never do it to anyone else. No one deserves it, and I still struggle with wondering if I did either.

Yes, I am 22 years old and I still talk about bullying.

I still talk about this issue.

I always will, because it shaped who I am today. And my heart aches for those who are going through it, right now. Because unless you go through it, you will never understand how it is, or how it affects you.

And it doesn't matter whether you were bullied a lot, or just once. It stays with you for a very long time, and the effects don't stop once you throw that cap in the air. I always wonder what kind of person I would be if I was never bullied. If someone ever reads this article in the school system or if someone ever needs me to talk to them, or their kids, or talk to every damn principal in America, until this issue is dealt with more appropriately, then I will be happy to do so. Bullying KILLS. Kids are dying with no repercussions served. This is not okay.

I wrote this to tell people that they aren't alone. I was bullied. And it ruined me, it ruined my love of life. Things that used to make me smile, don't anymore. I'm always on edge, and relationships of mine have ended because my self-hatred is too much for them to handle.

But in all honesty, it felt great to write this. I feel like a little bit of the weight has been lifted. I wish I could name names, but that would serve no purpose. This is just to let them know, that I may have fallen, and I still cry. But I'm still here, and I can finally stand. No matter where I go.