Sticks and Stones Broke My Bones

A girl feels emotional pain as if it were physical pain.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” It’s a common misconception that teaches young kids to ignore negative comments. I, however, am not like most kids. Some fall down and scrape their knees while others break their arms or legs. I’m not bothered by the physical pain that others experience. The sticks and stones, physically speaking, cannot hurt me; it’s the metaphorical sticks and stones that kill me.
I first noticed it when I was seven. I was playing on the playground with my best friend, Nina. We were competing to see who had the best landing from jumping off of the swings. I swung with all my might, and I leaped out into the air. Being a seven-year-old girl who was never athletic, I fell onto my knees. I searched proof of my traumatic fall, but I found no evidence of being hurt; it was as if nothing happened. I looked up to see Nina taunting me in front of the entire first grade class. “That was the worst landing that I’ve ever seen. You’ll never be as good as me,” she boasted.
“Alright everyone that’s enough. It’s time to go back inside,” Mrs. Roberts said. “Are you going to be okay?” She asked me.
“I’m fine,” I said. As I started to walk back to class, I felt an irritation at my knees. I glanced down to see blood trickling from a large gash in my knee. I didn’t know what to think of it because I was fine after I fell. The only thing that got hurt was my feelings.
I don’t know why emotional pain injures as if it was physical pain. I don’t understand why I don’t feel physical pain. I used to think it was better that way; I considered myself lucky. All of the other little kids were harmed by trivial pains that would eventually pass, and I didn’t have to experience any of it. Yet, as I grew older, I grew wiser. The physical pain isn’t as common anymore. Too often I experience bruises and scars from those whose words cut like knives.
I know the consequences that words have on people; I experience it first hand. However, others aren’t so careful. They throw stones at me when they call me horrendous names. They club me with sticks when they treat me as if I am nothing. They don’t know the effect it has on me, but they wouldn’t care even if they did.
“You’re worthless.” I feel a punch to my face.
“You’re a sorry excuse for a daughter.” I cringe from a knee to my stomach.
“You’re not pretty enough for him.” A crippling stab in the back knocks me to the ground.
“I never loved you.” The pain intensifies, and my heart breaks into two. Suddenly, all the pain vanishes, and I find peace.