I was a loner then. Like the stereotypical one. Sits alone, does not talk to anyone, keeps to herself, good at studies, very shy, hates group projects and say some really weird things. I was only 10. I didn't have any friends. But I was fine. 

Because the reason I didn't have friends was I was strong. I didn't let people push over me. I fought back. I guess, the bullies didn't like that.
But after some time, I got tired of being strong. Tired of being alone. I felt sad.
So, when a group of girls asked me to sit with them, I did. And that's how I started letting myself be used and abused.

For the first time, I felt that I belonged somewhere. That I was needed. I was happy.

Things were good for a while. We had fun. I laughed so much. But, nothing good ever lasts long. Soon after, I began seeing their real personality. I thought they were good people, who actually cared about me. But, I guess I was wrong.

They hurt me, ignored me, bullied me if I didn't listen to them. But I was stubborn. I would rather them hurt me, than do something I didn't want to.

The last day I talked to them, I tried to make peace. I guess, I was afraid, if I let them go, I would never find anyone again. I thought I was the one who was wrong. Maybe it was my mistake. I kept holding on.

They kicked me in the gut. I was lying on the steel floor of the school bus. I looked at the older students. They only looked on and laughed. I got angry. Tears threatened to spill, but I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. So, I glared. Wrong decision. They kicked me again.

When I finally got up, the older students said that they were just kidding around. I should let it go.

And I did. I let go of them.

Because I would rather be alone all my life, than let some evil pyscho's dictate what I should do.

I can live the fact that I am probably going to be alone forever.

But I cannot live with myself, if I ever gave up my freedom and my personality for anyone.

I loved myself. And I am enough for myself. 

I am free.