" Bitch is a sliver of word to my side. Sharp. Thick enough to hurt. But I hold my breath and pull it out. Cunt is different. Like a festering disease that settles in my gut. It lives there for months, and I can feel it there always. Heavy enough to remind me of when he said it the first time. Because it wasn't the hatred in his voice, but victory.
I've got it, it said. A tone of near pride. He knew he'd found a word that I couldn't ignore, wouldn't forget. A word cruel enough to affect my sixteen year old self. Who had never been called a name like that before. But had heard it directed at her mother enough times to know how it should hurt. A word that reduces me to an assembly of parts, less than human. A word that makes me nothing but the object of his hatred, which means I'm nothing at all. "

― Kyrie McCauley , If These Wings Could Fly