I was once bullied. Bullied by two girls. Little did I know these were the girls to start my torture. The entire fourth and fifth grade I had to face a fate that waited not long after I opened the door to my teacher's classroom. I was picked on, criticized, mocked, broken into pieces, and fallen. I had no courage, no strength to stand up for myself. Until I met someone I could trust. A school guidance counselor that had a smile of gold. Someone who had power, authority, and all that that I didn’t have. I told her. Told her of all that I faced. Told her of how they accused me of being something that I wasn't. Told her of the taunting and the cruel jokes. I told her everything. And finally after putting all of my feelings out, she answered by calling the girls down. She fixed things. Fixed things before my very eyes. But it didn’t end there. When these girls either changed schools or weren’t in my class. There came another girl with an even uglier laugh. She repeated mean names that I couldn’t stand to hear at the age of eleven. Man lady! Man lady! Man lady! Man lady! I sat there in the cafeteria at a table with my head covered under my hands like a cave sheltering me from an aerial attack. But not even my cave could save me from her shouting. Man lady! Man lady! Man lady! So I stood up and with all the strength that was stored deep down inside of me, I yelled at the top of my lungs saying SHUT UP! . . . Silence . . . And after that . . . I cried. I cried and I cried until we were dismissed. I cried because finally after fighting for a year and a half. I had won. I had been put back together, given strength, and finally was set free, from false accusations that had followed me for some time. I was once bullied. And now. I will never be bullied again.