I was bullied as a child. A lot.

I dreaded going to school, more than most kids I imagine. I was tormented relentlessly and made to feel inferior. Every day I faced disgusted looks, mean-spirited comments about my weight, and ridicule. It felt like it was me against the world. No one was in my corner to offer a helping hand. A sympathetic hand. The whispers, being excluded from the “in-group,” my classmates avoiding me like the plague—it was more than any 10-year-old could bear.

But bear it did I.

I was the perfect target, too: overweight, no friends, an unflattering speech impediment, and I never wore name-brand clothes as my parents couldn’t afford them.

I didn’t have one friend throughout my entire time in elementary school. Think about that for a moment — the mental anguish, humiliation, and utter despair that entails.

I did get invited to another kid’s birthday party once though. I didn’t go. I was made fun of so frequently, and with such viciousness, I didn’t know how to be a friend. Or how to see the good in anyone and accept the invitation for what it wasn’t: a pathological plan by my classmates to get me to show up to a party just so they could insult and rag on me some more.

All I’ve ever wanted to do was belong. To be included in on the jokes and not just be the butt of them. Instead, I took them all, and as a result, the psychological and emotional pain runs deep.

I never realized how damaging my childhood experiences were until I saw a therapist for anxiety and depression when I was 24. It was then that I realized just how my bullied childhood contributed to my current issues with low self-esteem and intimacy.

I have linked many of my failed relationships with my childhood. Being bullied at such a tender age has made me deeply insecure and led me to question my ability to love and to be loved. After all, how can a person love someone when he has never been shown love before?

This mentality consumed my entire state of being. So to spare me the heartbreak, I avoided the intimate moments in my life by pushing those who wanted to be with me far enough away that they eventually lost interest and moved on.

It was just easier to be alone than risk rejection. I was afraid of rejection, but perhaps worst of all, I was afraid of acceptance. I couldn’t bear the thought of being accepted by people only to be rejected by them once they got to know me.

Before therapy, I used to think the bullying I received as a child did not affect me as I entered adulthood. Sure, the insults, abuse, and mistreatment hurt, but I never reacted to them at the time because I didn’t want the bullies to know they were getting to me. It also happened so frequently that I thought it was just a part of normal living, so I tried my best to bury it beneath the surface.

However, with all the thoughts that constantly race through my mind telling me I’m not good enough, or my frequent desire to lash out at those who are too critical of me, however slight, I am reminded how close to the surface these feelings of inadequacy and failure are.

During those sessions, my therapist also touched on the concept of forgiveness and how I needed to let go to help with the healing process.

I was dumbfounded. Forgiveness for who? My tormentors?

But similar to how I couldn’t see the impact the bullying had on my self-worth and issues with intimacy, my therapist made me realize how much anger and resentment I had bottled up for my childhood abusers which soured my perception and made me angry at the world.

While I don’t consciously harbor any grudge or ill will toward my abusers, subconsciously, how can’t I?

How different would my life be if my bullies had targeted someone else? Or if their constant abuse and ridicule hadn’t caused me deep-seated emotional trauma. Or if had someone – anyone –to tell me they liked and appreciated me.

I will never completely get over my bullied past. In every crevice of my body, from the darkest corners to the brightest rooms, some remnant of that kid who felt unaccepted, misunderstood, inferior, and disliked remain.

But what I can do – and what I am attempting – is forgiveness. Forgiveness not just for my childhood tormenters, which has been a challenge in itself, but most of all, for myself. I’ve obsessively gone over in my mind the misdeeds or mistakes I might have made as a child that led to me being a victim of bullying. I need to learn how to forgive myself and accept my perceived vulnerabilities and flaws before I can forgive others and break the hold my bullies have over me.

As a child, my bullies had the power, and as an adult, they do only if I allow it. The only way to regain the power and live the life I desire is to let go of the past by embracing the present, and this starts with forgiveness.