It's been a few years since I've last worried about you. Sure, you pop into my mind when I'm too afraid to walk across the dining hall alone out of fear someone is looking at me and laughing. You're there when I stay silent in class rather than voice my opinion that I wish people had heard. You've become the voice in my head, judging my every move, determining every action I make. I have to admit, it's pretty tiring and wears me out fast. I loathe that I let you have this power over me.

I still remember the day we graduated in eighth grade. I was nervous then to walk across and receive my diploma, knowing very well you and your friends would find something to chuckle about. I watched as our peers made eye contact with each other as we sang our graduation song, tears welling up in their eyes. I didn't cry, I couldn't bring myself to do it. But if I did, it would've been for the good memories. I'd spent enough days crying over the bad.

I thought high school would be different, and for a while, I let myself believe that. Despite my delusion, I still couldn't get out of my seat in the middle of my classes because I loathed the thought of someone staring at me. I would go an entire day without lunch because my friends wouldn't go and the cafeteria was too busy for me to find a spot alone.

I stopped talking about my interests with other people because of all of you told me you "didn't care." You didn't want to hear about my "stupid cop shows" any more. I understood you didn't share my interests, but I would've appreciated you pretending to care after I listened to your interests and hobbies with eager ears. Following these repeated comments and critiques, I didn't contribute much to group conversations because I could tell people didn't value what I had to say.

Over time, you let me believe I was worthless, that every thing I did was to be second guessed. I needed to watch my words and movements because who knew what I was going to hear next. You criticized things about myself I couldn't control.

Now I know I'm not the only victim -- we all played our roles during our time in middle school. You changed me. I like to think I've grown as a person following my experiences in middle school. Although I'm in college and deep down I care what people think about me, so maybe I haven't changed too much. Despite everything, I still don't forgive you. I'm sorry, even if you're not, because as much as it hurts me, I can't allow you to be relieved of the burden quite yet.