Words are bullets, that leave wounds that never heal.

The sting of yesterday’s encounter hasn’t left me. It has in fact led me down the rabbit hole of bad memories. Words. So many words that have left not scars but open wounds that will not heal.

One of which is the words of my ex fiancé during his explanation of what led him to break things off.

“I want to be with someone who’s as smart as I am.”

Years later the words still haunt me. The pain never eases. It hurts as bad as the day he said them.

In reality. Am I as smart as him? Hardly. I’m smarter. Ha!! I know I am far smarter than he dreams he is. My vocabulary is better than most adults I know. I have actually managed to get a collage degree when he, even having his schooling handed to him and paid for by the military can’t manage to pass a collage class. And honestly. I know my IQ score and I know his. And in even the numbers I beat him.

So why does is hurt me so much even now?


Oh so many words that haunt me. Things people have said to me that have in fact broken me just a little more.

I can remember. 15. High School. Right after lunch, stopped in the bathroom, and a girl from my class…someone I’d thought of as a friend, asks me if I do drugs because I wear purple lipstick.

At that point I’d never smoked a cigarette let alone tried any type of drugs. Worst I had done was have a drink or a few when the parents were out.

Ohhh the rebel I was….

To be asked such a thing. I don’t know how I managed the rest of my day. Honestly I don’t remember much of high school…it was just an anxiety filled hell.

Words…that burn to this day…

Being told at 15 when I told by an adult when I wouldn’t go back to school that I’d never achieve anything, I was ruining my life. Sitting for an hour and a half as he lectured me about how…in my mind I was worthless.

Words that hunt my memories…

I’m not sure how old I was…10 maybe. My mom and I pulled into our driveway, her van fresh from being washed and waxed. Trying to be silly I made some stupid comment about the cats not being able to jump on the van now the wax would make it slippery and swiping my fingers against the side of the van mimicking the cats slipping trying to get a grip. I remember being scolded and made to wipe my finger prints from the van.


An ex years ago defending his friend after this friend once again verbally assaulted me. Saying oh it’s just how O is. He’s an asshole.

No. It’s not. Ok. It’s just ok to justify verbal abuse.

Words hurt.

The leave wounds that hurt…and haunt some people forever.

To me words hurt more than physical abuse. They hurt. They stay with me. They remind me of all my faults. Those that people point out.

How I play with my hair and have a soothing habit of rubbing a piece on my lips…how often I hear…

“How’s your hair taste”

I don’t know asshole. If I was actually putting it in my mouth I’d tell you. And what the hell gives you the right to say a damn thing???

It’s not like I walk up to people and say wow your mom must have a HUGE nose cuz yours is GIGANTIC!!

That’s how I feel.

How often we don’t think before we speak. How it hurts people. Or how others will take what we said.



2 thoughts on “Words are bullets, that leave wounds that never heal.

  1. I think the worst part about things like this, and really all scarring situations, is knowing that they don’t ever completely go away, and that there will be more to come. If our thirties are like this, what will the sixties be like? (Not to further worry you.) On some small level I still hurt from the botched relationships, mean things kids said to me in junior high, and deconstructive parental criticism I received. I’ve found things don’t go away, you just have to learn to live with them and move on. But that can be easier said than done.

    I have a trick you can try… it worked for me and might help you.

    Probably the worst I ever remember feeling was like ten years ago when the girl I was engaged to dumped me. The whole situation was amplified because I was an emotional mess from coming off Paxil cold turkey. I remembered every detail – the look on her face, the lighting in the room, the spot I punched on the wall and hurt my hand after she’d left, the place she set the ring, etc. I was told by a psychology professor that ruminating has a physical effect where the pathways in our brains become like well-worn dirt paths amidst grassy fields, so each time we replay a situation, the path wears down further and it becomes less effort to tread. This is bad, because our wandering minds might have an old path triggered by something weird like a package in a grocery store, or a blank spot on a wall. So the trick he taught me was to replay the situation, but add something ridiculous in and start replaying that new memory. For me, it was raining colorful plastic balls (like you’d see in a ball pit) in my bedroom with me and my soon-to-be-ex-fiance at our demise. I don’t know why, but this turned that memory into less of a “thing”. It didn’t have power over me anymore. There’s no erasing that it happened, but somehow this put it into a different perspective for me and it no longer defined me.

    Maybe the girl asking about your purple lipstick had purple face paint on. (By the way, purple lipstick is still awesome.) Maybe the adult that lectured you on ambition was a drunk, vomiting homeless man with a Burger King crown on. Maybe your ex who thought he was smarter than you had his face upside-down. Maybe the guys from the convenience store had Jim Henson style costumes on. (I’m spitballing here.)

    Anyway, hope that helps. It worked for me!

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