Wednesday, April 7, 2010

32w 2d insult

What is it that gives insults so much power?

Even now, days later, I'm hurt by something someone said. It wasn't even said with bad intentions, I'm sure. It's just in this person's nature to speak without recognizing the words as being hurtful.

Immediately afterward, I felt humiliated – an overreaction for a very minor insult. Why did such a small thing humiliate me? Why do I let it? I think having witnesses made it worse.

Then, for the next hours... days... my mind formed responses, reasons I could have attributed to the subject of the insult. They were believable but not really true. Why does the brain do this, struggle to create a reality I could better live with, one that's free of tiny humiliations?

It's at moments like this that I get sick of my own thoughts. There's no escaping yourself, though. I hate knowing, even though time has already pushed the silly insult to the bowels of my memory, that it's going to resurface periodically in the future. Insults always do. I mean, every morning, tweezers in hand, I still remember grade school children mocking my eyebrows 20 years ago.


From "Nobody's Home" by Avril Lavigne:
Open your eyes and look outside,
Find the reasons why.
You've been rejected,
And now you can't find what you left behind.
Be strong, be strong now.
Too many, too many problems.
Don't know where she belongs,
Where she belongs.

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