Editor's note: Reporter Jimmy Isaac writes about his experience with bullying in the latest in an occasional series by News-Journal staff.

Sometimes I think the bullying started because my family referred to me by my middle name, Daniell, as in Danielle without the final "e."

Sometimes I think it was the way I talked, or the way I walked. Other times, I'm convinced the bullying began when word got out of my third-grade crush on a white girl who played on my soccer team.

From about that time until I left Carthage Independent School District in the sixth grade, I was called many things other than Daniell. I heard unkind references about my sexuality well before I knew what my sexuality was.

Through the sixth grade, I had not one friend in school. I didn't think the teachers would help me, and I got a cold response when I sought help from one person.

I remember playing football alone in the front lawn as 18-wheelers sped down U.S. 79 in front of me. I developed imaginary friends, but even they defected.

Times were better when I transferred to Tatum, but not by much. I didn't have any friends until I reached high school. Then I had two lives. I was student body president for two years, choir president and a lot of other stuff, but I never went to parties or hung out with friends after school. In fact, letting anyone close to me is impossible even now.

Bullying isn't always getting your face smashed near the lockers or pushing around the girl who wears outdated jeans. It's words and ostracizing, as well.

What does it matter, though? Bullying is a part of life, and we all get over it, right? I got bullied and I'm doing just fine, right?

I'm 31, and I'm alone. I push people away because of fear. The words still hurt.

All I want is for the cycle to end.

It can't. Kids will continue to inflict pain on one another.

Jimmy Isaac is a Longview News-Journal reporter. E-mail: jisaac@longview-news.com.