Life has a funny way of reminding me how strong I have had to be since my journey into the abyss with him began. For me to say this is a major thing, because I tend to give myself 2 percent of the credit about 1 percent of the time. Making it through is not an easy life. And even I, someone who always seems to have endless words of encouragement for others, because I truly want to bring them some peace, I have had to struggle with the residual effects of damage done by words.
Words, what are they really? Some think they are empty and meaningless. That they do no harm, because after all, once they are spoken they disappear into the air as quickly as we release them? Right? Absolutely, unequivocally incorrect! Words when spoken properly have the power to educate, inform, improve, increase. They have the ability to warn of danger. And the most wonderful thing about the gift of words is that they have the power to heal, to encourage, uplift, motivate, and warm a heart deadened by the darkness of abuse. Melancholy. Loss.
The horrible thing about words is their ability, effortless and insidious, to pummel the goodness into a downtrodden state, to devastate, harm, sadden, burden, devalue, and instill the most treacherous types of fear and humiliation and degradation we will ever know in our lives. How they have the ability to kill our figurative hearts and rip us to shreds, robbing us of our value and worth and dignity and peace… and the futility and emptiness and hurt and doubt and….. incessantly nagging shame they leave us with.
I strive to use my words for the first purpose, because as woman built of love and compassion and hope and respect and appreciation and value for others and a need for them to be happy, content, safe, dignified, and at peace, I am driven to build up. Encourage. Motivate. Inspire. I ache for them to know that they are strong, beautiful, intelligent, talented, loving, and so worthy of happiness, that I feel compelled to reach out and soothe their pain. Sometimes it takes a little, and sometimes, it comes at great cost to my own peace. But still I reach out and use my words and time and energy for others. Because I care. Because I am a fixer. (I thank my grandmothers, I get it from them and I wouldn’t trade it in for one second.)
And even though I have lived it myself, even though I have been verbally reduced to a pile of refuse inside at the power of words, I cannot help but to feel lost and frustrated and hurt beyond anything I can express externally when I see others I have known since high school or befriended just after coming out of the disaster I was in subjected to very same torture and degradation that I experienced myself. I cannot separate my logic from my emotion and remember some people are just evil. Some people just truly don’t care if these incredibly powerful things that fly from their mouths destroy those they claim they love.
I had to reach out to someone I knew when I was just “a kid.” I have seen something I do not like, and I could not ignore it. My first contact with her since after we graduated is this. She must think I am nuts, but I don’t have the lack of compassion and mercy and love it takes to leave her to the wolves. And this isn’t the first person it has happened with. I know of a few, and I expect, given some things I have seen from a few others, the light will be shed on them as well. I cannot put any details about them or what they are going through here, out of respect for their privacy, but please keep them in your thoughts, and in your prayers if you send them up to Jehovah.
I am at a loss now, for it hurts so much more to see someone else being verbally battered than it did to me when I went through it. It is so different to watch that pain unfold when it’s not me it’s happening to, but when it’s happening to friends.