Sticks and Stones.


She wishes she had a broken arm. It would be visible that something is broken. She would not have to explain herself to people close to her as to why she feels the way she does.

Others would be witness to her healing bone, slowly but surely it would improve – perhaps a setback or surgery that prolongs the heal but it would be visible. Able to see something is not right.

She cannot see her mind. She cannot see if and how it is healing or when it ever will. She does not know how long the healing process will take and cannot see progress or regression. She can only feel it.

Since she cannot show anyone how her mind is working, all she can do is try to explain it. The best she can. The constant looks and pity is the worst part. The comments of “you must be starting to feel better by now?” when in reality, she feels worse. 

And then it happens. The saying that is haunting. “Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.” The conversations revolve around that. Just ignore The feelings, ignore the haters, don’t listen to them, you’re strong enough to get over it and you will…

So here she sits, behind her smile as synthetic as a Stepford and a laugh filled with hollow despondency.

Sticks and stones they say. Sticks and stones

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