Wounded

Wounded
S.L. Nadathur

Most of us have been wounded at some time or times in our lives. Some wounds are self-inflicted. Others are inflicted on us by others, some deliberately, some out of ignorance or indifference.


Many of us have been wounded by those closest to us, whether physically, emotionally or sexually. I know people who seem to never heal – they have been bleeding for years. I’ve known others who appear to have been healed only to have their wound or wounds reopened by some triggering incident. And there are some who seem to heal quickly with little evidence they’ve ever been wounded.

Even when wounds do heal, they often leave scars (whether physical or metaphorical). But there’s a big difference between a wound and a scar: a wound still bleeds. A scar is simply a marker where a wound used to be. In a sense, healing is (among other things) a turning of a wound into a scar. And our scars have reasons: they remind us of past sufferings; they teach us to be more careful next time; they remind us that what was once awry has been set aright (the scars of medical intervention or surgery); and, they are evidence of healing.

As with most spiritual and emotional aspects of our lives, there is no “easy button”; no formula for instant healing. But there are some biblical principles.

If the wound is our fault, we can confess it to God and accept His forgiveness. “If we confess our sins He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins” (1 John 1:9). Sometimes this may require the help of others. “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed” (James 5:16).

If the wound has been inflicted by others, we can forgive them. We may not always be able to pronounce forgiveness, but we can by the inward power of the Spirit of God, take an attitude of forgiveness as did Jesus on the cross. “And Jesus was saying, ‘Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing’” (Luke 23:34). Or Stephen, as he was being stoned to death, “Bowing his knees he cried, ‘Lord do not charge this sin against them’” (Acts 7:60).

We can recognize in all of our pain the sovereign hand of God. “The Father of compassions and the God of all encouragement who encourages us in all our affliction that we may be able to encourage others” (2 Corinthians 1:3, 4). God has a purpose in our pain, even though we may not see it at first – or maybe ever.

Wounds happen. We can choose to pick at them and keep them bleeding, or we can seek with God’s help to let them turn into scars. We may never get rid of our scars (even plastic surgery can’t heal most of them), but we can live with them and learn from them. After all, even Jesus, after rising from the dead, still had His scars.

Scars are the lingering effects of the wounds of yesterday. They can be borne with shame or they can be worn as medals of victory, reminders that we are empowered to overcome adversity . . .

Scars . . . ugly or beautiful? It depends on your perspective . . .

What do you think? Is a scar a symbol of physical or emotional pain that's been overcome? Or is a scar something to be ashamed of, something that signifies weakness and recalls regrets?

Cicatrices

Cicatrices
Azrael X Abbadon

Este dolor no lo puedo aguantar más,
Los moretones jamás desaparecen,
Sus gritos oscuros como la noche,
Mis heridas como el amanecer se desbordan por el horizonte.

Nunca me quisiste, jamás me amaste.
La asesinaste, solo era tu muñeca de trapo,
Cual siempre pisoteaste.

Mis lágrimas nunca conmovieron tu frío corazón,
Mis oraciones nunca fueron escuchadas,
Ni los gritos o llantos.

A pesar de todo mi dolor y sufrimiento,
Todavía te quería,
Por hacerme sentir que aún vivía.

Soy parte de ti,
Una parte que odias y desprecias,
Una parte que quieres eliminar.

Por tu culpa tengo miedo,
Miedo de salir y enfrentar la realidad.
Jamás seré como tú,
Gracias a ti aprendí de la peor manera,
Que la vida es un sufrimiento eterno y cruel.

Cuando en las noches lloraba,
La correa azotaba,
Mi piel levantada y cortada,
Un sufrimiento familiar . . . uno inevitable.

Soy débil y frágil,
Todo lo hago mal,
Y mi vida no vale nada . . . eso me gritabas tú . . .

Pero una sonrisa fuerzo,
Escondo mis moretones y cicatrices,
Mientras todo en el mundo sigue igual,
A la vez todo en mi mundo se derrumba.

Pero aquellos que me observaban veían mi historia,
Reflejada en mi piel,
Marcada y cubierta en miel.
Una dulce cubierta para lo que se escondía adentro.

La Siembra Esperanzada

La Siembra Esperanzada
Moisés J. Ortiz Cordero

Posiblemente no esté muy bien, pero mejoraré.
No soy lo mejor, pero me estoy esforzando
y sé que estoy cosechando
lo que en el pasado sembré . . .

Lo pasado no lo cosecharé con entusiasmo ni con lamento,
lo cosecharé y extraeré lo bueno,
labraré y sembraré de nuevo.

No me arrepiento de la cosecha pasada
pero tampoco me enorgullece,
aquella indica de lo que la futura siembra carece.

Sembraré con entusiasmo esperando resultados positivos,
escogeré un buen terreno en donde sembrar,
para así lograr cosa buena que se hace con buen motivo . . .

Me dirijo hacia el terreno en el cual sembré aquella vez,
he aquí un buen terreno sembrado,
con buen resultado que no ha sido en vano,
justamente como pensé . . .

Voices of our Youth

There's some incredible talent inside the Leonides Morales Rodriguez High School in Lajas, Puerto Rico. My visit to Mrs. Delgado's 12th grade English classes was an awesome experience. I met some amazingly talented writers, musicians, song writers, poets, and illustrators. Young people, all with something important to say. In both English and Spanish. And here in this forum, are the voices of our youth. The voices of "la juventud de Puerto Rico."

Aflicción

Here's our first entry from the talented kids at Leonides Morales Rodriguez High School in Lajas, Puerto Rico. You guys rock! Big time!

Aflicción
Moisés J. Ortiz Cordero

Has llegado nuevamente al campo de batalla,
en donde hay abundancia de esperanza pero pocos la alcanzan.
La vida te trata mal, piensas que no hay salida,
las puertas están cerradas, ya no hay alternativa.

Eso es lo que el ojo ha visto; el corazón no piensa eso,
él analiza la situación y se da cuenta que es un proceso,
él mira lo positivo y lo separa de lo negativo,
cuando estás en problemas se comunica con tu amigo.

Sí, ese mismo tu amigo, Jesús,
el que te libra de los males, el que murió en una cruz.
El que te da la vida y te ayuda cada día
para que salgas hacia adelante y en el túnel veas una salida.

Vete de rodillas y ora ante Dios
y aunque pienses que no te eschucha no levantes la voz.
Él está allí aunque tú no lo sientes
El es esa voz que te influye y te dice: "sigue hacia el frente,
posiblemente vengan momentos malos a tu vida,
pero recuerda, no hay laberinto sin salida" . . .

Faceless

The Girl Who Wanted To Be Faceless

The following story comes from a young woman from London, England. Sarah Costello was the victim of bullying. She made the local news. Headlines at the time read: “Bullying Made Me Want To Die.” Or “Anti-bullying Website Stops Me From Cutting Myself.” Painful titles. And when I asked Sarah if she had any photos of herself at the time she was being bullied, she wrote to me saying, “I don’t have many photos from those times—I would either draw all over them, scratch my face off, or shrink them to abnormally small sizes so you couldn’t see them very well. The bullying was so bad that I was desperately unhappy."


Now, for the purpose of reaching others, Sara shares her story:

Sarah at the time of this story

I was eleven years old when my best friend first hurt me. We were in sitting in class together, and she hit me with a ruler that belonged to someone else. The girl took her ruler back and bought my friend one of her own to hit me with. Another time, my friend "accidentally" burnt me with a soldering iron. I often wondered why the bullying began. Why my best friend had turned against me. Maybe it was because I didn’t cause any trouble, got on with my work and stayed quiet most of the time. Or maybe it was because I was shy. Or because I was tall. Or had unruly, curly hair. I never used to fight back, which probably did me no favours. All I know is that it all started with my best friend, and once all her friends got involved, they didn’t need a reason to be mean.

The worst thing I could ever imagine around that period was catching the bus home from school. I dreaded it when my mum was working late. People I didn’t even know would bully me, shout things in my ear, and throw newspaper at me. One time it got so bad I almost jumped off the bus. I remember that day so clearly. I was looking at strangers on the bus thinking, please, help me, make them stop. Every time they caught my eye they'd look away. It finally got so bad that I just sat there, not even bothering to take the newspaper off me. I just sat in a ball and let them do what they wanted to: they'd be getting off the bus soon anyway.

As the pain became greater, I became less tolerant. I had a fight with this girl once; well, it was more of a punching session. She had been tormenting me for a long time. When I finally lashed out, the teacher had such a go at me--and it wasn't like I was ever in trouble at school anyway. In fact, I’d never been in the Head of Year's office before. He asked me why I’d done it and I tried to explain I had a lot on my mind and I’d had enough of her by that point. He said I should've gone to tell him if she was annoying me. For what? I wondered. So he could laugh in my face? I was crying so hard I couldn't even stand up and I'd NEVER cried at school before. The bullying about that started then. People would come up behind me and pretend to cry in my ear. One time when I was walking down the corridor two girls hit me to see what I’d do, whether I’d hit them back, leave it, or cry. They'd knock my bag off my back then pretend to cry.

There was this one boy who used to sing stuff to me (I didn’t even know who he was), nasty things, when he walked through the social area. I'd block out his voice and pretend I couldn't hear him, or not show that I knew he was talking to me. When I got on the bus he'd shout and tell me to get off and call me names. There were lots of names. Greasy. Green Giant. Swot. Tracy Beaker. Truffle Shuffle. Bean Pole. I could go on forever . . .

Every day was a nightmare. A lot of the really bad stuff that happened I'm not ready to talk about yet. Despite everything being so bad, though, I never missed a day of school. I went every single day, unless I was genuinely ill. I was on my own a lot of the time, and the rare moments when I did spend time with my sister, her friends would make comments about it. I can't even remember what I did at break time, but I spent lunchtime in the library. When I moaned about this to my mum, she'd say it was my fault for only having one friend and told me to make more friends. My mum would question my sisters about what happened in school and on the bus. But they never told her. I bottled everything up and told NO one what was happening. I was so scared people might think I deserved it as I was so vulnerable and for so long I believed this. It took me a while to realise that NO ONE deserves to be bullied, or asks to be bullied, no matter how they look or act.

The sad thing is, I started self harming as a way of coping. I overdosed on my hayfever medication several times—not with the intention of suicide, but I saw it as another way of hurting myself. Everything I had valued in life had begun to slip away and I was just living. My body was there but my mind wasn't. I forced myself to get up and go to school when the new year started. It was a struggle many of the days, but I'm glad I went and didn't give up.

And to cope, I wrote in my diary—everything I could remember about the bullies and what they'd done and how I felt, and it actually helped quite a lot. At the beginning of 2005, my mum read some of my diary and she decided I needed help. I was offered lots of support at school, which I declined as I didn't think I needed it (I did, I really did, I know that now). I know the school administration would've stopped the bullying if they'd known, but because I didn't tell them, they couldn't do anything about it. I started counselling at the hospital but only went twice. I did feel a lot better emotionally, but it wasn't long before things took a turn for the worse again. It got to a point where I was throwing up after meals and taking a lot of paracetamol at least once a week, and was extremely suicidal. But then I found a new counsellor who was fantastic. I finished seeing her in July after 8 months and I am a much happier, stronger person. I've felt so much better and have changed a hell of a lot, and learnt lots about myself. I know there are alternatives to hurting myself. I don't get bullied anymore, and I'm staying strong. Yeah, I still have bad days when I don't particularly wanna get up and face the world but I'm not gonna let a bunch of losers ruin everything I pieced back together. I'm at college now, and I love it. I have amazing friends who love me for who I am. In a way, I could say I'm glad what happened happened. It’s true: what doesn't kill you, does make you stronger.

Believe me, if you have faith in yourself you can get through anything. You just need to hold your head up high and get through it. Tell someone, because that’s the mistake I made, and a lot of people, understandably, do make it. If you let your bully get away with it, there's going to be more victims that feel like YOU. You're not alone, don't feel ashamed, tell someone. There have got to be more survivors in this world, and I'm proud to say, I'm a survivor!

Editor’s Note: Sarah is now studying to become a mental health nurse and plans to specialise in working with young people who are suffering the effects of bullying. She volunteers as an online mentor for kids who are being bullied through her website:www.stompoutbullying.tripod.com. We wish her continued health and healing, and hope that her pain will be used to help and heal others.

Sarah now--a happy college student

On Being Different

Susie Four Eyes

As I shared in an earlier posting, school was a horrible place for a girl like me. One of five kids, my parents couldn't afford to dress me in brand-name clothes, and I was one of those "weird" kids who liked to read and stay to herself. Not much has changed since I was young. Youth culture is still at war with some of its brightest, most interesting kids. But you know what? I’m in good company. I have something in common with a lot of really famous, successful people.

Robert Pattinson--on the wrong side of his classmates

For all you Twilight fans out there, you may be surprised to learn that teen idol Robert Pattinson recently confessed to being the real-life victim of bullying. This super-hot actor may have won over millions of teenaged girls playing the vampire hero on the big screen, but this 23-year-old superstar was not exactly on the good side of his classmates growing up in Britain. “I got beaten up by a lot of people when I was younger,” he told Parade.com in March. “I was a bit of an idiot, but I always thought the assaults were unprovoked.”

Taylor Lautner--bullied because he wanted to be an actor

And how about Pattinson’s onscreen nemesis, Taylor Lautner. Taylor recently told Rolling Stone magazine that because he was an actor, he was bullied in school. “People made fun of what I do,” he said. “But I just had to tell myself I can’t let this get to me. This is what I love to do. And I’m going to continue to do it.”

Chester Bennington--knocked around like a rag doll

Chester Bennington, of the rock group Linkin Park, is another popular celebrity who also continues to do what he loves -- despite once being the victim of teen cruelty. Chester says that “he was knocked around like a rag doll at school for being skinny and looking different. But, joining a band where his voice mattered really helped.”

How many of you have been “knocked around like rag dolls for being too skinny, or too fat, or simply looking different? Chester found his voice through his music. Taylor and Robert through their acting. I found mine in my writing. What about you? Where did you find the voice that makes you you?