Third grade was better for him, with this teacher being kind and giving him chances no others had. The other students, they still tortured him. “Fag!” “Weirdo!” “Stupid!”
Why are they so mean? Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?
I spread threats and hurt them back, warning them to just stop. I should have known, something like that would never work. It only got worse every day.
Fourth grade started and it was worse than ever before. The teacher was more insulting and demeaning than any other person I had ever met. She had tolerated me when I was in her class, but she was relentless with him.
With a teacher hounding him every second and students making him miserable, a nine-year-old child was driven to the point no one should ever know. No one should ever feel the way that he was forced to feel, especially a little kid.
One day, when Mom was cleaning a classroom, he ran in, bawling his eyes out. He was saying that Mrs. Miller was bullying him again. One of the kindest women I have ever known walked in, saw the mother and son, and walked out. Later, Mom apologized, and the caring woman answered with “Don’t apologize, what was happening was more important.”
We found the note in the trash one day: “I hate myself. Nobody likes me and they are all mean to me. I want to be dead.” We had an emergency meeting and talked with him. We told him that we love him, and that they don’t matter.
Mom pulled him out of the class. I picked up the work for him every day and dropped it off every morning. The teacher didn't understand why he didn't want to come back. I told her why; I told her that she was heartless and should never have become a teacher. I told her that she drove my brother, a small child, to the point of wanting to end his life.

The next year, all was back to normal. Children were cruel, the teacher didn't care, and I tried my hardest to protect him. I blamed myself every day that he would come home crying or say that he hated himself.
Every year that he had been tormented and beaten emotionally, the same had happened to me. I had shoved my emotions to the side to protect my brother, but I couldn't ignore it anymore. With my fellow students calling me ugly, fat, dyke, know-it-all, and countless other names, I was horribly depressed.
I turned to cutting. No one knew, since I covered with jeans and socks. I would cry myself to sleep, knowing that right next door, my baby brother was doing exactly the same thing. It killed me that I couldn't do anything for him.
Eventually we moved again. I got a boyfriend, and everything changed. I got into fights with my family. My brother, who was only thirteen, had a new girlfriend every month. I turned sixteen, then he turned fourteen, and the entire family grew more and more unstable.
On June 20, 2014, reality slammed into me like a brick wall. My boyfriend’s best friend, and one of my close friends, had gotten into a wreck. His name was Sam Cook, and he, along with Ayron Maurer, died in a car wreck. Three other boys were seriously injured and were in the hospital for what felt like an eternity, but was only a month and a half to two months. There were many things we all wished we would have said, things we wanted to do. We were all going to go on a trip to Canada the next summer, but that would never happen now. Sam was going to be the best man at our wedding. So much was changed in one day, and it really showed us all how precious life is. Sam did that in a way, though, he was always a good, kind person and lived life to the fullest.
On July 4, I was mutually kicked out of my parents’. I didn't want to be there, and the relationship was growing worse every day. I moved in with my boyfriend and his grandparents. We started school in August and he proposed to me.
My kid brother, who I had tried to take care of his whole life, was in more trouble than ever. He was getting in with the bad crowd, smoking, and getting into legal trouble. He had lost his virginity at fourteen to a girl who broke his heart over and over. She made him feel like a horrible person, just like everyone else in the past had. The reason he had gotten with her in the first place, was because he thought he had loved her. She made him feel good one second, then terrible the next.
I heard right before school had started, that my brother was in Juvenile Hall. He had been framed for slashing tires. No one believed him. The police had gotten on his case as soon as we had moved, even before he was in trouble. I couldn't believe it. I blamed myself. Maybe if I had been nicer, if I had protected him more, if I had done anything different, he wouldn't be in trouble.

My fiance was helping me through my family problems and my self-blaming problems. He helped me begin to see myself as beautiful, after the years and years of being told I was mediocre at best. He helped me see that I was intelligent. He made me feel important, and amazing.
Eventually, my fiance and I started getting more and more stressed out. School, his family, everything seemed to be piling up on us. I had begun to make up with my family. After Christmas, I had visited to see my nieces and bring gifts to them and my brother.  We started growing into a family again. Eventually, in February when my fiance turned eighteen (I had turned seventeen in December), we moved in with my parents.
We had our own room, I got a job, and it all seemed good. We dropped out of school, because the environment was making us both unstable to the point of suicidal and homicidal thoughts. Then I found out about my brother.
He had never stopped cutting. He was smoking and chewing, all at the age of fifteen. He kept obsessing over the same girl, even though she kept hurting him in ways I never thought imaginable. He was still being bullied in school, even though I was trying to stand up for him and protect him at every turn.
We had an intervention; I told him that I love him for the first time in years. My fiance and I took what we had thought were all of his razors and put them in a container. I drew him his favorite rapper, Eminem, and I gave him the number for the suicide hotline.
The family went through this over and over again. Triggers for my brother were around every corner, causing him to relapse again and again. It broke my heart every single time and made me cry like I hadn't in a year.
Eventually we all got through it, and my brother began to get better. In May, my fiance and I began to plan our wedding. We didn't want a huge event and wanted my nieces to be able to be there, so we planned it for May 23, 2015. We left the position of best man open, for Sam. My mother was my maid of honor. My nieces were my flower girls. My husband’s brother was the ring bearer. People that love and support me were there for me on the biggest day of my life, so far.
I made my brother the DJ for my wedding, and everything went amazingly well. I was never as happy as I was on my wedding day, and was glad I had waited to have sex for that night.
I told my brother that I was proud of him and that he had done well on the music.
Since then, we moved out of my parents’ place, and they moved to another part of town. My brother has had a few more hardships, but they’re making him a strong, good person. I haven’t ever been able to tell him this to his face, but I wish I could have done better for him, and I am proud of him.

People need to understand that they can’t just say anything; everyone has a story and emotions. Everyone takes everything in a different way, and they all want to be treated fair. My brother never wanted to be treated the way he was. He wanted people to like him; he wanted to be accepted. Doesn't everybody?
Life is one tough battle after another, whether it is emotional, physical, or mental. People all have struggles that they have to fight everyday and they don’t need others antagonizing them or making them feel like they are worthless or unimportant. Everyone matters.
There was once a character from a show, that said “In nine-hundred years of time and space, I have never met anybody that wasn't important.” Isn't that true? Everyone has a story, individuality, a life, and they don’t need someone minimizing that.
One part of my life I have never admitted to my family, only to my husband, is that I did attempt suicide. One more than one case. One night I was going to do it. I had the knife and everything. Then my phone rang.
“Aunt Chey, are you okay?” It was my oldest niece. She said she felt like something was wrong.
That was like a stone in my gut. My family cares about me, and I wouldn't be able to do something like that to them. I couldn't be selfish enough to make them suffer because of me. I told her that everything is okay. I heard my other niece on the line.
“I love you, Aunt Chey!” she yelled into the phone. My older niece repeated the younger one.
I broke; tears rolled down my cheeks as I held back the sobs and wanted to kick myself for how selfish I was being. I told them I love them too. They hung up and I put the knife away. I didn't consider suicide until two years later, and ended up not doing it because I met my husband.
Life can be horrible sometimes, people can be cruel, circumstances can suck, but I can promise it does get better. You just have to be around to see it. It is always okay in the end, and if it’s not okay, then it’s not the end.
My entire life I've been helping others, be it with mental, emotional, or physical problems. I've talked people out of horrible decisions, I've given people a push in the right direction. I've helped people find love, and I've helped them through loss. What is important in life is helping each other and making life worthwhile.
My brother still gets bullied, and he’s even had people make death threats against him, but he no longer let’s the people get to him. He’s grown to be a strong, young man and I’m proud to call him my brother. I’m proud to say he made it through the rain and was made better for it.
One of the worst situations you can put a person through is caused by words. Words can be some of the sharpest weapons a man can use, but, if used for the good, it can be a tool for good. Words can be medicine for one’s soul, if someone only takes the time to be kind.
Always smile, be kind, and stay strong. A smile can create a friendship, kindness can save a life, and strength will help you through this world. Say the things you want to say and don’t be afraid. Be who you are, regardless of what others say, and be proud.
Just never, never bully anyone. Why would anyone want to harm someone else? Why would they want to push someone to the point of self-harm, or worse? Why would anybody want to be responsible for someone else taking their life? The answer is easy: they wouldn't. Think before you speak, and show people the kindness you want them to show you.
I don’t care if someone is Atheist, Christian, Buddhist, Catholic, Agnostic, homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, demisexual, asexual, transexual, a hermaphrodite, a cross-dresser. No matter who someone is, or their life choices, be kind. Show consideration and acceptance.
A quote that hits me close to home is “be the person your dog thinks you are.” Your dog thinks you’re a superhero, an amazing person, someone who does good. So be like that, be a good person and treat everyone equally. If you ever wonder what to do, think about what your dog would do, or what they would want you to do (just don’t go around sniffing butts).
Please, if there is one thing you do today, make it a smile. That smile could make the difference in someone’s life. Wouldn't that be the change you’d want to leave on the world?