Revenge

You may be tempted to set someone's house on fire or send them nasty letters threatening to expose any secret you know of your tormentors. But don't do that, it fills your mouth with a bitter aftertaste if you so much as try. If you didn't start out as a bad person, don't let some wretched words or actions of a weaker minded individual change that of you. The thing they want most is to destroy you, your happiness and your future so that you're the weaker one and so they can stand on top of you. They want to transmogrify every part of your life and watch as you cause yourself to fail so they can laugh more.

Please, I implore you with all of my will, don't let that happen.

You can't forget, and no matter how much you may want to, the scars, both physical and emotional, will still be with you through your lives, but don't let them stop you. Scars are better than tattoos for stories, because they are ultimately personal. And it's potent, that energy, if you can direct it towards the right way.

Succeeding is probably the best way to win. If they called you ugly, strut down the runway. Stupid or a retard? A university degree might fix it. Can't write? Publish a book and dedicate it appropriately. Besides success, if you want to be the winner, if they accuse you of anything, true or not, it's best to diffuse the situation.

"You're a slut." = "You think so? So what if I am?"
"You're gay." = "I'm glad. That's the best thing you could have said to me." (This makes more sense when you realize that the word gay used to mean happy or blissful.)
"You're such a fag." = "No, I don't feel like a cigarette. But maybe I'm mistaken."
"You're easy." = "Me easy? No, that would be the (insert subject here) test we just had."

Many of the words said above were said to me. I wasn't brave enough to realize I had as much ability to use my mouth as anyone else. Instead I just moused into a hole and tried to pretend like I didn't exist. My mom didn't know about my situation at the time, but when it was over, she told me not to fight with my fists but with my mind.

If I'm such a horrendous writer, why do I still choose to write? Because no matter what my enemies said to me, I won't stop doing what I liked all along. I chose to evolve so they had little ability to say such things about me any longer, but also so that I might help others stand if they so need a hand.

My dedication, if I ever publish a novel, will be "To all the teachers who never believed in me, Thank you."