7th grade was awful for me, my mom can attest to that. I felt like everyone in my school (read: the world) hated me and thought I was ugly and stupid and annoying. I am glad I got over that in Middle school though, if I still felt that everyone has the time and energy to hate me I would be in an even worse pit.
Speaking of pits. I had a Panic attack the other day, the first one in months. See, I was writing in my journal about the particular episode where I destroyed *all* of my old journals then proceeded to mutilate my arms with a plastic shaver with the plastic melted off. It was a bad, bad time. I wanted to write about it as a symbol of moving past that part of my life. I never finished the piece though. About halfway through I started panicing and had to stop.
I guess that, though I am working my way out of the hole I lived in for so long, I am not quite ready to look down yet. When I have enough space between me and the bottom, I will be able to finish that story without any physical symptoms, and I will know that I am finally out.