From second grade onward it only got tougher as far as bullies go. I will never put real names on the faces who have branded me with scars forever. In third grade is when I got my first taste of physical abuse from the other side, and I'll explain what I mean by that later. The physical abuse I endured, however, was not being tripped in the hallways, or shouldered out of the way.
It started, as it always does at that age, on the playground. During games of soccer, there were not-so-subtle kicks to the shins and unnecessary shoves that forced me to the ground. It graduated to worse in just a few short weeks. I got my first official tormentor. Yay for little me.
This girl who shall not be named, let's call her Smelly (just because it makes me feel a little better) was the first person who dramatically changed who I was at the time. You see, the first time Smelly punched me, I was genuinely afraid of a person for the first time in my life.