Words as Weapons

It's amazing how wonderful words that make me glow one day can be totally twisted by my depression the next. On the bad days, compliments can be like knives in my gut. Tell me I'm smart, & all I can focus on is how little I've done with my life & what a disappointment I must be. Tell me I'm pretty, & all I see are my flaws & how alone I feel. Tell me I'm creative, & I remember all the things I've wanted to make but didn't, or tried to make & messed up. Tell me I'm kind, & I think of every time I've been selfish, & of how much more I should be doing for others. It's so difficult to accept kind words as they were intended, to let them lift me up, & not turn them into weapons with which to beat myself down.