*A Note to My Readers
As I share this blog series, ‘Reflections and Revelations,’ reflecting on the pivotal moments that have shaped my life, I want to acknowledge that these posts include sensitive themes such as bullying, self-harm, depression, anxiety, promiscuity, and substance use. These topics are deeply personal, and while I share them with honesty, I encourage you to proceed with care. If at any point you feel triggered or overwhelmed, please prioritize your well-being and step away.
I also want to clarify that while my stories may at times sound like I am blaming or accusing others, this is not my intent. With time, reflection, and growth, I’ve come to understand that everyone was navigating their own challenges and doing the best they could with what they knew at the time. I do not hold resentment toward anyone mentioned; in fact, many of these relationships have been healed through understanding and time. For this reason, I have changed or omitted some of the names in these stories. This series is about exploring how these moments shaped me, not about pointing fingers, and I hope it inspires others to reflect on their own journeys with compassion and courage.

Betrayal and Abandonment
Going into year eight in high school, I was a bit worried about finding my classes and figuring out where everything was, but I quickly learned my way around. I was still close to my best friend from primary school, (let’s call her Kelly), so I was disappointed when I discovered we didn’t have any classes together. Despite this, we still found each other every lunch hour, catching up on everything that had happened in our separate classes.

In one of my classes, I met a new girl, Tammy. We clicked instantly, and I was excited to introduce her to Kelly at lunch. Kelly, however, wasn’t impressed. At first, neither of them liked each other, but I persisted, determined to bring us all together. Eventually, the three of us became inseparable—spending lunch breaks together, having weekend sleepovers, and having lots of laughs.

At Kelly’s house, we would sleep downstairs while her family slept upstairs. We’d play music, watch movies, and run around being silly until her mum’s voice would sound over the intercom, telling us it was bedtime. Little did she know that about half an hour later, we would sneak out and head to a creek a few streets away, dressed in our pyjamas, where we’d hang out for hours before sneaking back home. Tammy lived closer to the creek, so one night we stayed at her house, sneaking out through her second-story bedroom window, shimmying down the side of the garage, and making our way to our secret spot. No one ever wanted to stay at my place—it was impossible to sneak out. “Fort Knox,” we called it. With security screens and my dad checking every lock before bed, there was no way I could leave without being caught. It made me feel safe, knowing no one could get in, but it also meant sleepovers usually happened at Kelly’s or Tammy’s house.

Our friendship seemed solid. I was happy, and confident in school, and felt secure in my friendships.

Then, one day, everything changed.

I arrived on the bus and went up the hill to the high school entrance, where Kelly and Tammy stood. As I approached, smiling widely, they laughed, turned, and walked away. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach, my throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, confused by the strange interaction. The school bell rang, and I went to my first class, unaware that my world was about to crumble.

A girl who thrived on drama approached me with a smirk. She gleefully informed me that my so-called ‘friends’ had told everyone that I was a lesbian and had been trying to “crack onto” both of them. They claimed they were uncomfortable and no longer wanted to be friends with me. My bottom lip quivered, but I clenched my teeth, refusing to cry. My jaw remained tight throughout the class as my mind raced, trying to figure out what I had said or done to deserve this. I had convinced them to be friends, and now they were turning against me in the cruelest way possible.

When the bell rang, I grabbed my backpack and left the school, walking to my grandparents’ house. When I arrived, they weren’t home, so I climbed into a tree in their yard, my thoughts swirling with anger, hurt, and betrayal. After some time, I realized my grandparents weren’t coming back anytime soon, so I decided to head toward the school to be near my bus stop for the afternoon. On the way, a teacher saw me walking and pulled over, asking what was wrong. I burst into tears, and she ushered me into her car, driving me back to school and into her office. I refused to tell her what had happened, so she called my mum, who left work to pick me up and take me home.

The next few months were a nightmare. People avoided me, afraid they’d “turn lesbian” if they got too close. My ex-friends laughed and pointed whenever I walked past. Then the prank calls started. My parents bought an answering machine hoping it would deter them, but my former friends just left cruel messages. I steeled myself, refusing to let them see how much they had hurt me. I drifted between different groups, afraid to get close to anyone, scared that if I made the wrong move, people would accuse me of something again.

My mum spoke to the school, and they set me up with a counselor. That only made things worse. She had already spoken to my former friends—together—before meeting with me. Her main goal seemed to be making me admit I was a lesbian. I had nothing against the LGBTQ+ community. But I was confident in my own identity, and I was sick of her pushing for a confession that wasn’t true. My anger boiled over, and I yelled at her before storming out of the room. When I told my mum what had happened, she called the school and demanded that I never be put in a room with that woman again.

It took time, but I eventually found new friends. However, I never again allowed anyone to get close enough to truly know me. I never found out why my friends turned on me or what was said behind my back, but their friendship, built on cruelty, quickly fizzled. They moved on to new groups, and fortunately, my school was big enough that I could avoid them.

By the end of year eight, I told myself I didn’t care anymore. But the damage was done. That betrayal left a scar that would affect my relationships for the next twenty years. I had learned that letting people in, trusting them, was dangerous—it led to pain. Over the years, I mastered the art of making people feel like they knew me, like we were close, but in reality, I only shared the parts of myself that I felt safe revealing. I sabotaged healthy friendships, pushing people away when they got too close. To those I hurt along the way, I’m so sorry. I was too scared, too damaged, to let you in.

I ended up with several friend groups, floating between them, always invited to events but never staying long enough to form deep connections. I became the fun one, the adventurer, always up for something exciting but never opening up about how I truly felt. Outwardly, life seemed fine—no issues at home, no major problems at school. But inside, I felt alone and unseen.

Then came my first party.

I was fifteen. My mum bought me a four-pack of vodka cruisers, wanting to know exactly what I was drinking. I remember arriving, music thumping, people dancing, my drinks going into the fridge. I drank one. That’s all I remember.

Blurred memories haunt me—being in a bedroom, my friends around me, being in a car with my mum, swinging open the door to vomit, army crawling to the toilet, sick beyond belief. My dad was furious, insisting I was lying when I said I only had one drink. He told me he hated liars. I was too sick to argue.

At school, my friends told me I had been acting extremely drunk, dancing and wobbling, and had kissed a boy sitting next to his girlfriend. I hadn’t even kissed a boy before. They realized something was wrong, locked me in a room, and called my mum to get me. Mortified, I apologized to the girl whose boyfriend I had kissed. She was kind and forgiving. But my dad wasn’t.

That night shattered our relationship. My own father didn’t believe me. I swore to myself I would never put myself in a situation like that again, where I couldn’t defend myself or say what did or didn’t happen. Anytime I tried to talk to Mum about the situation she would take Dad’s side and I felt more alone than ever.

Who could I trust?

Myself. That’s who. From that moment forward, it was me against the world.

Linda x

Ask for Help

If you or someone you know is struggling, please seek support. Here are some Australian helplines that can help:

• Lifeline: 13 11 14 (24/7 crisis support and suicide prevention)
• Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636 (Support for depression and anxiety)
• Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800 (For young people aged 5–25)
• 1800RESPECT: 1800 737 732 (Support for domestic and family violence)
• Alcohol and Drug Foundation: 1300 858 584

You are not alone, and help is available.