WORDS THAT STAYED
394 Words
I used to think pain was loud.
Crying.
Shouting.
Breaking things.
I was wrong.
The worst kind of pain is quiet.
It doesn't show on your face.
It doesn't make a sound.
It just stays.
She called me again today.
Not by my name.
Never by my name.
It's always something else.
Something sharper.
Something that sounds small when she says it...
But grows louder when I'm alone.
"Look at you."
"Always like this."
"Why can't you be better?"
She says it like she's helping me.
Like she's fixing something broken.
Maybe she thinks I am broken.
At first, I used to argue.
Defend myself.
Explain.
That was a mistake.
Explanations don't work on people who have already decided who you are.
So now...
I just listen.
She talked for a long time today.
About my grades.
About my attitude.
About how I'm "wasting my life."
I stood there.
Quiet.
Still.
Waiting.
Not for her to stop.
But for something inside me to react.
It didn't.
That's when I realized something.
Her words don't hurt me anymore.
But they don't disappear either.
They stay.
Not as pain.
But as... information.
Like data being stored somewhere.
I remember every word.
Every tone.
Every look.
Not because I care.
But because I've learned something important.
Words are tools.
They can build people.
Or slowly destroy them.
And most people don't even realize which one they're doing.
At school, she (my friend) asked me if I was okay again.
I almost laughed.
It's becoming a routine.
Her asking.
Me saying nothing.
"You don't have to pretend with me," she said.
Pretend.
That word stayed with me.
Because she's right.
I am pretending.
Not to be happy.
Not to be okay.
But to be normal.
To react when I'm supposed to.
To speak when it's expected.
To exist in a way that makes sense to others.
But it's getting harder.
Not because I'm struggling.
But because I'm starting to wonder-
What's the point?
If people are going to see what they want anyway...
Then why try to show them anything different?
I wore black again today.
It's becoming normal now.
No questions.
No attention.
Just how I like it.
I think something inside me is changing.
Not breaking.
Not hurting.
Just... adjusting.
Becoming quieter.
Colder.
More controlled.
And the strange part is-
I don't want to stop it.
- Writer
