I wish I had been bullied.

I can't say I was ever bullied during my school years. I think the closest to bullying I've ever been was being mocked for the way I spoke to my dad. And that lasted for a day in fifth grade.

The truth is, I've always been a tough girl. I used to hit boys who were mean to me, and I've considered myself a feminist since I could talk. Girls loved me and boys were scared of me. All of that while wearing glittery kitten heels and a Disney princess shirt. I held the most awesome birthday parties where people were longing to be invited.

Then middle school came. Changing from my old elementary school shook me, and I went from being one of the coolest girls in my class, who everybody knew and everybody liked, to a literal nobody.

I used to think to myself, I am nice, I dress nice, I am girly, and I am friends with some popular girls. Popularity should just come handed to me, right? I couldn't have been more wrong.

I fell into invisibility as fast as other people rose to popularity. There was nothing I could do about it. Ghosted by old friends, turned down by new ones. I was excluded from every fun happening during my teenage years. I'd step into class and less and less people would greet me.

"She's a great girl," they'd say. "She's super sweet and smart."

But they'd never say anything else. Occasionally there'd be an "She's so funny," followed by anything else but an uncomfortable silence. That's how people knew me. Sweet. Smart. Funny. And drop it there.

I think that's what hit me the hardest. They never had anything bad to say about me. They liked me. They thought I was amusing and nice. So why then did I find myself with only a couple of friends and a lack of popularity? No one seemed to have a problem with me. No one was purposely hurting me. No one was bullying me or mocking me or leaving me out. They'd gladly talk to me if they had to, they'd smile at me, they'd like me.

So why did no one like me enough to be my friend?

This sick-like feeling came to me last June. I was scrolling through social media and, as usual, the feed did its thing. I was instantly flooded by thousands of pictures of old classmates posting high school's photo dumps for our graduation. What really stung me was the fact that no matter how close I thought I was with those people, I was in no pictures. Not even one.

I had gone to birthdays, I had gone to class trips, and I had surely taken some pictures with those people. I could see in my head the couple of pictures I had with them and other people on our graduation day and couldn't help but wonder if they just didn't like me. But I just couldn't be mad at them. They weren't my best friends. They weren't forced to post me at all times. No one is. They hadn't been mean to me, they'd help me when needed, and said goodbye with a hug.

I just couldn't be mad at them. I couldn't blame them for my loneliness. I couldn't say I had a bad high school experience because I was bullied. I just couldn't because it was nowhere close to the truth. I had spent my high school days without going to a single party, without being included in any gossip going around, with no male attention.

There had to be something wrong with me.

It had to be me.

“Most people go through their whole lives, without ever really feeling that close with anyone.” - Sally Rooney

 Everyone seemed to be having what I didn't. They didn't exclude no one. I was the only one who seemed to be missing from all the fun. I was the only one who wanted to get in but just couldn't.

If someone had bullied me, I would've cried to my mom. I would've blamed it on them. I would've blamed it on the fact that this society can't accept someone different. I would've found comfort in other people who were bullied too. I would've known what's wrong with me. What makes me so unwanted. They would've pointed it out for me. I would've known. And I would've found comfort in knowing.

But I wasn't bullied. I never was, really.

And I think, maybe, there's this sick and twisted part of me that wishes I had been, so I could put this weight I have in my chest onto someone else. So I could have a villain. So the blame could escape my body and go to them. So it all has a reason.

If they bullied me, I could know that what was wrong was the environment.

But I wasn't. So my questions were unanswered, and that empty, shallow pit in my stomach grew into insecurities I never knew I had.

I don't think that when I was 15 and thinking all of this in my bedroom one afternoon I actually wanted people to hurt me in ways I couldn't imagine. I don't think when I was looking at graduation pictures that made me disappear into oblivion, I wanted to have suffered, to have been mocked or laughed at. I think, in the end, I just wanted that pit to disappear. I think that's all humans want, after all. To run from the unknown. To have all the answers in the world, to be able to tell why you weren't chosen, why you weren't enough.

And I think the not knowing is so much more heartbreaking than the bullying.

But here's the thing.

I don't think anyone knew why I was excluded. I doubt they knew they were forgetting about me. Sometimes people are excluded, sometimes people don't like you enough, and there's nothing you can do about it. No answers can change that because there's no answer. There's no why. No reason. No motivation to hurt you the way they did.

Sometimes girls grow up feeling unwanted. Sometimes girls grow up lonely.

Sometimes people just don't realize.