Sticks & Stones

matti stone
Jul 27, 2017 · 4 min read

They throw words around like one throws a ball for their dog. Getting into a routine, until they start throwing them mindlessly. Again and again.
Now we can say “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” What is the reality and truth in that? Bones heal with time, but the thoughts in one’s mind do not. Our minds are like the dog, we continue to fetch the ball each time, and bring it back to them. We absorb their words like the dog that runs after the ball, continuously, repeatedly. Creating habits.
She was much like that before I came around. She took their words, she took their poison and their stabs. Her mind feeding off their words much like a vulture feeds off scraps. She started seeing herself just the way they told her they saw her, every little imperfection being pulled to attention, she cried herself to sleep. Her headaches grew, from lack of sleep, from dehydration, all the water she drank being filtered into tears.
Then one day she found the Advil.
Oh, Marie.
Two.
Three.
And finally, the headache started to fade. Just enough for her to get a little bit of sleep. When morning would hit, and the light would fall on her face, she was forced to go through the day, like she was ok. Never a second did she want to be awake, but rather sleeping, and experiencing peace. That peace was only the beginning of the war.
Three.
Four.
The Advil stopped being enough. The light poured in through her bathroom window, hitting a small silver object. Oh, how interesting. It was sharp, it was shiny. The bird in her picked it up with curiosity. Lightly feeling the power this object held, never meaning to hurt herself. Her mind pushed the little silver object and slid it across her stomach. Slicing the pure, tan flesh into a perfectly straight vertical line. It burned, sending hot flashes, she watched with her little beady innocent eyes, as one drop trickled slowly down her skin. Soon she realized this was better than crying. She wiped her tears away and stood up. She finally had the power to control her pain. Oh, the wonders that little silver object brought to her, just like fishers use for bait.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
She began to feel as though she was getting better. She had no tears to drain her into exhaustion, no thoughts to keep her awake. Her once angular figure began to fill in. The boys started to see her, noticing her figure, and they sensed the smallest amount of weakness in her. The way she held herself, with an air of carelessness and recklessness. They asked for her, coaxing her into a state of great mental debate. She no longer cared. If that’s what they wanted then they could have it. She grabbed her thongs and laciest bras. Snap. Snap. She pushed the button. Her first words of encouragement from the boys. They lead her on, she felt good, like people finally wanted her. Damn this was really a treat. She cried amen.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Now you may wonder where I come in, what I did. This was quite like playing hangman. Finally, she stopped with all these things. She talked to me. She began to smile and laugh more. I gave her a home, she finally felt safe. Piece by piece she put herself back together.
But like I said earlier, bones heal but the thoughts in one’s mind do not. She grew to have an air about her that everyone was jealous of. She was confident. But then.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Hangman is a great game. It should teach us that by saying the wrong thing you can end someone’s life. If you wonder why I haven’t counted to one yet. Well, this is why, her mind was still fragile from years of torment, from years of self-destruction, her habits were not quite broken. Jealousy brings a lot out of people, it brings harsh words.
But like hangman, when there’s one last spot open. You either say the right thing or you don’t. You either keep the man alive or you end his life. Maybe if they had said one nice word, or more people had taken one second out of their day to praise her for everything that she was instead of what she wasn’t. Maybe just maybe she would still be here. Bullying and self-harm are not a joke. Well let me say her game of hangman was not won, I am all that is left to tell her story, and I feel it is my duty to raise awareness of bullying, although most definitely and most sadly her game of hangman is done.
Two.
One.
Goodbye, old friends and old foe, although her game is over, maybe if you change your ways you can save another sweet doe, so at least they have one more chance of seeing the magic in this world, and quite possibly even give them what Marie does not get, one more hopeful dance with the love of their life, with falling white snow.
One.
Zero.

matti stone

Written by

living in South Africa

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