I was very young, barely 13 years old, when I overheard comments about my body, my allegedly lifestyle, my teenage choices. Hurtful, malicious words spread out by people that should love me unconditionally. And that was the worst of it. If they thought that about me, what would strangers think?

The self-loathing that followed was a dark shadow following me around everywhere. And that’s where I start pushing my feelings down together with food and alcohol after that. I hated myself and pretend that I didn’t. For more than 15 years after that I pretend to be unaffected by their comments, thoughts, words while doing everything to change their minds.

All my young adult years was trying to fit in my (not flawed) nature into their conservatism bullshit. Pretend to be perfect, neglect my own boundaries to be all and everything they expect me to be. And they did abuse it! Oh, how much they abused my kindness, my willingness to help, my desperate need to be loved.

Words matter because words hurt more than knife cuts. Believe me, I tried. Physical pain does not even resemble the damage emotional pain do.

Words, so carelessly spread. Little comments here and there made to hurt under the pretense that they mean nothing. Words that pass by funny thoughts, nothing of consequence, clearly too much for sensitive humurless people.

Took me so many years to realize that it was not my fault. It just gossip, rumors to fill in conversations, malicious pieces of information spread my resentful, envious people not happy with their own lives. And above all, not the truth of who I was or what I did.

And this is the reason why I don’t read gossip magazines, I don’t engage in talking about other people’s lives, I don’t say anything that can be even remotely hurtful even when people are not listening in. It does not matter to me who is in the room. Silence is better, kindness is best.

I am very mindful of my words. Because once they are out, then are out. You cannot put the genie back in the bottle.