Words Hurt

      “Sticks and stones may break my bones. But words shall never hurt me”. Ever heard this old saying. Or a variation of it. This is the dumbest fucking statement ever uttered. In my opinion that is, because it leaves me scratching my head.

      I know I’m a writer, so I tend to look at things, as a writer. This sometimes results, in me overthinking a plethora of topics. That being said, this isn’t fucking one of them. The ignorance of this kind of commentary, makes my brain hurt. Did this person understand, the meanings of the words, that someone called him.

      I’m sure he’s never heard the saying, “Those are fighting words, my friend”. You know, right before, the sticks, stones, and broken bones, deal occurs. In my experience, if you say something over the line, there’s a real good chance, you got the taste, slapped out of your mouth.

      Words hurt, a lot more, in the long run. Broken bones, and physical wounds, heal in time. Words, wielded by a wordsmith, are fucking brutal. Verbal heavyweights, can crush egos. It can cause, depression, drugs, and alcohol abuse, sometimes it can even kill. That sounds pretty serious to me. What you think?

      It’s my mission, to debunk, the theory, that words are not a weapon. Sometimes they’re ticking time bombs, that catch us in a flashback, while drunk, and in the whispers of despair. Shedding tears, sickened stomach, screaming in a primal form of agony, while wanting the mocking chants, silenced.

      I don’t speak, as someone, who never felt it. It’s real, and can be crippling. I drank more than half my life away. I could have shredded them, had I wanted to, in a verbal war. But then comes, exchanging hands, and the ass whipping. I’m not a big guy, and I lack the skills of a competent pugilist, so the outcome would not be in my favor.

      But their curses, and insults, I carried with me, almost my entire life. It left me with, depression, anxiety, addiction, hate, rage, guilt, and the pain of existing. I was damaged goods, broken spiritually, and I drowned it all, with floods of alcohol. How am I still here? I really can’t answer that, the good lord, wasn’t done with me, I guess.

      Revenge, I wished it. I’m human. Luckily it came to pass. I found a way to drop the bricks, I carried, for so long. Some other lost souls, I knew, have not been as fortunate. I hope they’re at peace. I truly do. Godspeed, to the weary out there.

      The moral of the story. Words do hurt, and they can harm. Trust me. I’m sure, dear readers, I’m not alone out there.





DL