The Power of Words

Journal Entry  
December 16, 2024  
 
I could see him watching me stuff the marshmallows in my mouth one after the other out of the corner of his eye as he drove, a slight smile on his face while he remained silent. Ringo knows not to say anything when I have an open bag of marshmallows in my hand. He’s unaware, but it used to be peanut M&Ms. I switched to marshmallows a few months ago because the M&M’s remind me of the miscarriage and the miscarriage reminds me of the guy who got me pregnant and the whole entire thing reminds me of what happened a few weeks later and fuck me if it doesn’t remind me of Xavier. Everything reminds me of Xavier. Everything is tied to him. My whole fucking life. Shit. Why? I need him gone. He had been gone for thirty years and he wasn’t really gone. His fucking eyes were everywhere. Those twinkling brown eyes were in front of me when shit was happening, living in my mind, existing in my dreams, saving me from everything, from going completely insane. I couldn’t remember what he looked like, but I could see his eyes. And now? The only eyes I see are those brown eyes darkening with lust, lids half closed, roaming over my body as he was lazily leaning back on the chaise in my new apartment, and I was dancing in front of him in my red lace bra and panty set. He may have been high, I don't know. But he had liquor in his water bottle, I do remember that. Only because it was one of the few times I drank before he came over and offered him alcohol  when he arrived, but he started long before he planned on seeing me. I didn't start drinking again until he came back. Thirty years without a drop and the only reason I started was because I was trying to deal with everything. Not that it was a problem, but it wasn't a good thing to do while taking antipsychotics, anticonvulsants and Xanax. My stomach turns every time I see him like that and I see myself dancing for him.  
 
Fucking M&M’s. I joked with the girls at work back then that if I came home from my appointment eating peanut M&M’s the test was positive. So, now I eat marshmallows when something is on my mind. One after the other without hardly chewing, barely aware of what they taste like. I prefer the jumbo kind ‘cuz I can sink my teeth into them. Sometimes if I’m good and angry I take it out on those poor unsuspecting jumbo marshmallows and pretend it’s his flesh…Thank God Ringo found them on the bottom shelf just before I pulled out every strand of hair on my head at the grocery store.  
 
It was around four o’clock and I had just left the Colo-rectal surgeon’s office. She specializes in pelvic floor dysfunction. Add another disorder to the ever-growing list of medical conditions I have. It’s getting embarrassing. I’m frank with my doctor’s and she’s no exception although she and I haven’t had a conversation like this prior to today. “I have clitoral atrophy and can’t orgasm anymore. I’ve never had anal sex. Is it safe for me?” Without batting an eye, she fired off her answer. “I wouldn’t have anyone jamming just anything up there, but if you have a partner who goes slow, uses lots of silicone lubricant, and you’re relaxed, you’ll be fine.” I don’t have any partners at the moment, I’m abstaining, but this is me, I’m always thinking about sex. And since this is me and I've been abstaining for all of two weeks, it's probably not going to last very long. It hasn't in the past, why would it now? Because I don't have partners at the moment? Puh-leeze. I've lamented over this before too and then voila, insta-partner. It's like they form out of thin air and all that lamenting was for nothing. Well, maybe it was for something. Maybe the universe heard my pitiful ass and she felt sorry for me, who knows. Anyway, I don't do that anymore, lament over not having sex, so the  playmates will come (don't even, dirty girl) and if they don't then the abstaining thing is going to work. My doctor and I had a five minute discussion on “technique” and that was that. Easier than I thought. Then I laid down and rolled to my left for the exam, just like the last time. “You still have a lot of inflammation. I’m going to have to do another injection.” “Mm hmm.” One injection turned into five and that topped off my day.  
 
As I was standing in the aisle in the grocery store ready to lose my mind because I just had five injections in my rectum, a phone call from my Rheumatologist at one o’clock with the results of my neck x-ray (moderate to severe arthritis in vertebrae C2 through C5 and pinched nerves on the left side), I had my urethra dilated at ten in the morning, I was fucking fed up with how much my body betrays me, and I couldn’t find the jumbo marshmallows on the shelf where they were supposed to be, I heard Ringo’s very loud voice, just like he had his lips right on my ear. “Found ‘em!” Today, he’s my hero.  
 
I ate thirteen of those bad boys on the way home. I told Ringo I was going to eat the entire bag, and he laughed. “You always say that and you never do.” I do and then I don’t, he’s right. I make a lot of those kinds of declarations. I say words like he just did all the time also. Words like always, never, everything…I learned that people with PTSD and C-PTSD tend to use those specific words a lot, much more than the general population, so I try not to. Then I end up using them anyway just like most of my declarations. They end up being reversed. Like this abstaining thing. But those words, they work for me, like f-bombs. A good f-bomb works wonders. I say fuck much more than I probably should. It’s not very feminine and it’s not classy at all. It sounds uneducated and I am educated. But I mostly don’t care and when I drop an f-bomb, it shows. Saying always, never and everything feels really good though. YOU NEVER LOVED ME works much better than you don’t love me, it has impact and it justifies how I feel. YOU ALWAYS STOOD ME UP is much better than you stood me up thirty-seven times. Well, maybe not. But it does make me look less pathetic. EVERYTHING SUCKS is better than most things suck. That just sounds like a deflated balloon, what kind of impact does that have? Absolutely none. I never realized how good those three words felt until I tried not saying them.  
 
Words are powerful. I should know. I write, it’s what I do. But words are much more than words. For as much as I love words, sometimes I hate words. Words hurt; they’re weapons when used the wrong way. Xavier told me I had a cutting tongue. He said my words hurt. What he meant is the truth hurts. Not once did I say anything that wasn’t true. That’s what he didn’t like. He didn’t like being called out for being a dick. I should have said the things that needed saying. If he thinks I cut him with my tongue then, I would have sliced him up with the truth. Instead, I saved his life, I spared him while I suffered. I can see the words I hear in my head. I can see everything that’s happened in my life, Xavier and everything else, when I hear certain words. Even beautiful words can hurt. Like the words I waited for that never came. Sometimes I hate words.