You probably don’t remember me. Or perhaps you do, but you honestly don’t really care one way or another about the things you once said to me. If you saw me today, maybe you’d look back at your choice of words as if they were nothing more than the poor decisions of an uneducated adolescent male; you’d rather act as if these were things you never said. Or maybe you would still silently support those vile remarks. Either way, I bet you don’t even think about me. But you should be forced to understand the negative impact your words had upon me.

It was a normal day just like any other. I took my seat at the front of the school bus; pushing my back into the ugly faux-leather while comfortably keeping to myself, much like every time prior to this one. I kept my messenger bag close to me and fiddled around with the little butterfly charm hanging off of my silver flip phone. Then, you popped up. You usually sat in the back, telling condom stories that were most likely fabricated just to bump up your ego, and chewing wads of gum way too large for your mouth. I looked out the window because I just wanted you to return back to the dark depths of where you once came. My whole reason for sitting up here was so that I didn’t have to see your face. But for some reason unbeknownst to me, you thought it was completely necessary to insert yourself into my personal space.

I never bothered you.

Let me continue to make myself clear: I never spoke to you, scarcely looked at you, did not interest you, and never disturbed you or your dumb friends.

But I suppose none of this mattered to you because your eyes had suddenly cornered me and I was already your next easy target.

You started off, “What’s goin’ on, Sumo Wrestler?”

I blinked hard and said nothing back.

“Come on, fatty. Stop hoarding your snacks like the fat sh*t you are and share some with the rest of us.”

My arms were shaking. My voice was lost somewhere deep inside of me (according to you, it was hiding under my “hundreds of layers of fat.”) I had no words.

“Damn, don’t want to talk? Well, that’s okay. You’re so ugly that you aren’t worth listening to anyways. You belong in a dark room where no one ever has to see your hideous face or your fat f*cking body.”

This continued for the duration of the school year; it was not just a one-time thing. Every day, you made nasty comments about my weight and how I looked—things I’ve spent my entire adult-life trying to forget.

This was the moment I knew. I realized the heaviness of words, and how incredibly important they are in the grand scheme of mankind. Words are powerful. They can either create or they can destroy. Words can break you into sharp little shards, and it may take a while for newer and nicer words to make you feel whole again.

Never again do I want to face a situation where I have no words. And because of this, I decided to become a writer.

I need to use words for a good purpose because I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of words when they are wrongly used. I find it fascinating how words are like a double sided coin. If laced together the right way, they can bring someone sheer comfort and happiness. But when improperly used, they clash together in thunderous sentences that make one feel as if they've been struck by lightning and left with an electric current for a voice.

Now I love using words to explore areas of writing I never knew existed before. And it's all because of the verbal abuse I took from you. Words—the very things that fuel my essence—are the same exact culprits that shoved me down into a dark hole. Your words made me avoid looking in the mirror. You gave me swollen eyes and sleepless nights from sobbing the whole night through. Your words made me want to shed my skin like removing a thick winter jacket so that I could find a new body to inhabit because I didn't want mine anymore; it wasn't good enough. You bestowed anxiety issues upon me that still haunt me to this day. Your words made me feel too uncomfortable to remove my shirt and look down at myself. For a very long time, your words even made me hate myself altogether. But I'm guessing you didn't know any of that, am I right? Can you even begin to imagine what this feels like? The saddest part is, I bet this barely matters to you at all because that's the kind of person you are.

But I've come full circle now. I find that there is something unexplainable yet beautiful about leaving myself vulnerable through words. Every week when I write these articles, I infuse small pieces of my being into my writing, and I leave myself open and vulnerable to those of you that are reading my work right at this very moment. I don't think I would have found this power if it weren't for the way you used your words in all of the worst ways. Bullying (at any age) is horrid, rude, and absolutely lifeless. Based off of the ringer I've been shoved through, I want my readers to understand that any crude words people say about them are tough and endlessly empty, all at once. In my eyes, words have no meaning unless they are given life. At the end of the day, please remember that the words you decide to throw out into this confusing abyss of a world can never be taken back.

So, I bet you're living it up in college right now; banging skinny hot girls void of brains, drinking yourself into nights you will certainly never remember, and finding every way humanly possible to avoid coming home over holiday breaks. I also bet you’ve never since given thought to the quiet girl you labeled as nothing but fat and ugly.

But I hope my words reach you.

In some twisted way that's even too difficult for me to comprehend, I would also like to thank you. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be as strong as I am today and I wouldn't have the same amount of fuel to write as I do now. You truly taught me the value of words and the ways in which they shouldn't be used.

I also hope my words are able to reach the people who are just like you, who think it's okay to go about their daily lives verbally ridiculing and abusing another defenseless human being. Unfortunately, you are not one of a kind—there are a countless number of other jerks out there who think it’s funny and get enjoyment out of saying the same exact things as you did. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.

Lastly, I hope my words grace the eyes of all others who have been called cruel names before because I know how you feel. Just hang in there, because words can piece you back together again. I can't promise the names they've called you will fade from your memory, but I can say in confidence the things that broke you will eventually make you stronger. So please, be nice to one another and share kind words that will only make the people around you smile—words that are worth remembering.

With love, by Ari (the girl who is so much more than fat and ugly.)