“I don’t love you, I haven’t loved you for a while. I am happier without you and I am not sad that we broke up.” I thought these lines only happened in movies where the jackass guy breaks up with the soft-spoken girl, but I was wrong. I heard these words from someone I once cared about deeply but now resent. He could have walked away and never looked back. He could have said, “we’re done,” but he chose to leave me with those words, which then turned into scars. I never knew words could leave wounds so deep that death would be better because at least you wouldn’t have to hear them repeat in your head for months.

It took me nine months, two counselors, and a therapist to reverse the effect of the words he left me with. Nine months to heal scars from two short sentences, but that’s all it takes to kill someone. With words, the act of killing someone is not messy and it doesn’t leave a trace. It’s the perfect murder weapon because it’s like handing the knife to someone and saying, “stab yourself” and that person does it. There’s no physical evidence, but if you could see their thoughts and pain you would understand that words have lasting effects that leave invisible scars on hearts and minds—scars that never leave.

Killing someone is easy, but having to revive yourself is nearly impossible. With the act of killing, you strike them down and leave them, but they don’t all stay down. The determined get back up. Day after day, you look at the mirror and hate yourself for being so weak, so worthless, and an idiot for believing in those hurtful words. You start to believe that what they said is true and your mind starts to betray you. They didn’t have to do anything other than mutter some words—you took the knife and held it to your neck. If you are in this stage, please put the knife down and stop looking in the mirror. Take a step back and cry or have a moment for yourself. This moment may not be your best moment, but like anything else this, too, shall pass. Let it pass, and then be proud that you let it pass. Even if it’s small, be proud of yourself. Don’t let those words become a knife.

He may have killed me on that chilly March evening, but I used the pain and anger to push me to come back to life. I am not the girl he tried to leave for dead. I am not the girl who sacrificed so much for him, only to have him walk away and blame everything on me. I am not the girl he thought he once “loved,” which I don’t think he knows how to do (except if it’s alcohol). And I am not the girl who needs his validation anymore. He may have killed me with words nine months ago, but he started killing me with all of his lies while we were together.

Now I am alive again and stronger than ever.