I want to get a little serious on you tonight, so hang in there with me. I watch a lot of crime shows, almost anything on Investigation Discovery. Most of which are all awful stories about people doing awful things to other people. I have met my fair share of awful people in my life, and I have witnessed first hand what other people are capable of, both good and bad. Abuse is one of those things. I have seen some really awful abuse that my friends and family members have gone through.
Tonight I just kind of wrote this little thing remembering my friends who I have helped to pick up after years of abuse. The biggest thing I want anyone that reads this to take away from it is that what you say can hurt a lot more then hitting someone. Now that is not to downgrade physical abuse at all. Any form of abuse is just unacceptable. But physical pain fades and heals given enough time. Scars that words and emotions leave last a lot longer, and sometimes can be irreversible.
The Power of Words
"The world is a burdening thing. Every second of every day of your life it does nothing but try to knock you down. Push you to the ground, bury you to the neck in all the negatives it has flourished on. For most people they travel through life in a daze, shutting out the pressure. Gliding along like it is just another natural thing to take the abuse of others. Then there are those who sell their soul to aid the problem. Infecting everyone with more negative energy, spreading the heavy burden of life outward. Knee-capping the people that try to make it a little brighter for the rest of us. There are still others that are able to escape the senseless cruelties of a world spinning from the poison of others.
I was ten when I found out what I wanted to be. Completing a creative writing assignment in English class I knew right away I wanted to do that for the rest of my life. Bring life into the lifeless imagination of other people. Spark that beauty in the world that only I could see. I arrived home with a bounce in my step announcing as I came in that I wanted to be a writer. My mother put her wine bottle down long enough to laugh. She reminded me that grammar, spelling, anything to do with writing was not my strong suit. Telling me I was put in the stupid classes for a reason, which were really just learning aid classes. My dream crumbled before me and I left the room with a heavy heart. That night I ripped my writing assignment into pieces and swore I would never try it again. I told myself to not even try because I would never be any good at it.
Years later I would find something else I loved to do, with the thought of college not far off. My mother again in a drunken stupor informed me I was too lazy to do something that involved. This pattern continued well into my high school years, by the time I was a senior in high school there was not much left. I have lived like this all my life, promising myself the world would never bury me with its negative shit. But the walls are caving in, the tide is high, and I haven't the will to struggle."
Till Next Time