“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt them” – Unknown.
This statement is greatly false and reeks of Pee Wee Herman.
Last night I was watching a program about domestic violence and they were doing some statistics on the victims suffering severe psychological trauma from and I began to wonder. First of all, these Cro-Magnon knuckle-draggers that insist on hitting their “Womens” like some Neanderthal with a protruding forehead and a taste for clubbing things while grunting and shitting in his loin cloth. These people need to be castrated in public with a dull and rusty butter knife. Guys, I know women can test us, be royal bitches, provoke us, rub us the wrong way and just flat out piss us off but (and let me shout this) you are to never lay your hands on a woman in a violent way…ever!
If we broke this down even further, what is worse in its own right? Physical violence or being hurt physically or mental violence or being hurt mentally/psychologically?
I’ve been handed my ass a couple of time in my lifetime. Mostly because I stepped in something that I shouldn’t have. I’ve also handed several people their asses in my lifetime as well. So, I know the pain caused by physical violence. I also have had my fair share of mental abuse. More than my fair share really.
I’ve been cheated on, lied to by four significant others, used, abused, treated like shit, taken advantage of, rejected, dejected and laughed at because I had never seen a Ludacris video. (Rolls Eyes)
Most of this treatment came from girlfriends, so-called and ex-friends. Only a small percentage of my mental turmoil has been caused by perfect strangers. A large percentage though is caused by my self.
Of course, a lot of my mental trauma is caused by malevolent past relationships. All were extremely emotionally, psychologically and physically abusive. My ex-wife was sexually abusive as well. The damage was so severe that I lost the ability to function in my next relationship, causing me to push her away. It was by design. I chose to keep her at a distance, despite loving her deeply. I allowed my past traumas to corrupt my vision and my inner strength.
My ex-wife’s abuse didn’t stop, even after I found my backbone and left her finally. She then blatantly lied to the local police, saying I was the abusive one. I spent 13 months in jail for an allegation that had no evidence, no witnesses and a story of hers that changed more often than the weather. I chose to decline a speedy trial because I did have evidence of my abuses and I needed time to assemble witnesses, records and police reports.
Fighting it bankrupted me emotionally and almost financially but in the end, I won. A jury did not believe she was credible or telling the truth but the damage was done and I was diagnosed with PTSD. A couple of years later, believing I had made tremendous progress and I met Catherine. But, in reality, my trauma was only a sleeping giant and when it woke, it wrecked the place.
Catherine left me and a year later she died in a car accident. There were times during that year that I desperately wanted to explain, to apologize, to make amends but mentally, I wasn’t ready to tell anyone about the sexual abuse at the hands of my ex-wife and that remorse and guilt is something I will always live with.
I honestly believe we humans have been trained to see beating someone up physically as a bigger and more serious “no-no” than mucking someone’s mind up. I mean, really, the brain, psyche and our emotions are not visible. No bleeding, cuts, scrapes, bruises, scars and/or sutures that the naked eye can lock on to to tell our brains “Holy fuck! That guy got his ass beat!”.
Mental scars are thicker and rarely ever fade like external scars do. I wonder how many people who have ever called their child “good for nothing” or “useless” have ever reflected later on what that could do to someone. I wonder how many men/women reflected later about how their treatment of their friends made them feel?
I’m a constant thinker and a brutally honest person at that. I see no sense in coddling the people I care about. If the shirt looks like a rose garden died on you, I’m going to tell you. However, I’m going to reinforce the things you should care about. How much you mean, that you’re smart, funny and that you are valued. It’s those things that count, not what you look like in a shirt. If you’re fragile little psyche cannot handle being told a shirt makes you look like Jabba the Hut then you need therapy…bad.
I believe mental violence/abuse/trauma is far worse than any ass-whipping you could go through.
As soon as you’re finished having your face stomped into the ground, your body takes stock and immediately begins first aid and you start the healing process. As soon as you’re finished having your psyche stomped into the ground, your body takes stock and immediately begins to dig a hole for itself and the wounds begin to become infected…
I think the lesson in this is that stick and stones may break your bones but words can sometimes kill you…