When They Break You, Then Blame You for Bleeding

Some people don’t break things by accident.
They aim.
They know exactly what they’re doing.

It’s not that they don’t realize the weight of their words—they do. And it’s not that they don’t notice the impact of their silence—they absolutely do. Some people thrive off the control that comes from being just subtle enough to deny and just loud enough to wound.

They toss out little comments designed to cut.
They withhold kindness and basic decency to keep themselves in a position of power.
They manipulate narratives—share half-truths, leave out key details, or tell outright lies—to shape the way others see the situation. And when the tension finally snaps and you stand up for yourself? They throw their hands up and say, “Wow, you’re being dramatic.”
They call you the problem.

And here's the twist—they love to play the calm one. The rational one. The “I’m not getting involved in the drama” one. But silence is not innocence.
Silence can be strategy.
Silence can be manipulation.
Silence can be violence when it’s used to deny reality and avoid responsibility.

It’s not always about what they say.
Sometimes it’s the apology they never offer.
The message they never send.
The effort they never make.
The way they conveniently go quiet while the wreckage piles up.

They sit back, smug and unbothered, while your name gets twisted, while the damage unfolds, while you’re left trying to hold together what they tore apart with their entitlement and their ego. And then they have the nerve to call it peace. But it’s not peace.
It’s passive-aggression dressed up as maturity.

One of the most insidious tactics they use is accusing you of “playing the victim.” Not because you are—but because they need to flip the script. They need to make you look unstable so they don’t have to admit what they did. They’ll slap that label on anyone who refuses to stay silent about being mistreated.

But you’re not “playing” anything.
You were hurt.
You were affected.
You were left picking up the pieces of someone else’s cruelty.
That’s not weakness.
That’s being human.

What they really mean is:
“You’re not letting me off the hook this time, and I don’t like it.”
“You’re finally telling the truth, and that threatens my version of events.”
“You’re not shrinking anymore—and your confidence is exposing everything I tried to hide.”

They don’t want resolution.
They want control.
They want to keep telling the story where they’re the hero, the victim, the “bigger person.” And anyone who challenges that—especially with facts, receipts, or boundaries—must be discredited at all costs.

So they mock your pain.
They downplay your experience.
They rewrite history.
And if they feel called out by words like these, they’ll either double down or disappear altogether.

Let them.

Let them spin their version. Let them whisper. Let them act like they’re above it. You don’t need to defend yourself in someone else’s fiction.

Because the truth?
The truth always outlasts the performance.
And the people who really know you? They see it. They feel it.
You don’t have to shout to be heard. You just have to stop pretending.

You don’t owe peace to people who weaponize your pain.
You don’t owe comfort to people who cause chaos and then hide their hands.
You don’t owe loyalty to the ones who only show up when it benefits them.

You’re allowed to outgrow people who refuse to grow.
You’re allowed to walk away without closure.
You’re allowed to speak the truth, even if it makes others uncomfortable.

And if someone reads this and feels defensive?
If they feel exposed, attacked, or “judged”?

Well…
If the shoe fits.

-AG-