Invisible Scars

By Amber Smith | VOX Staff

Art by Amber Smith | VOX Staff

As I gaze into the mirror, voices crowd my mind: You’re stupid! You’re not good enough and you never will be! These familiar voices are those of my closest family members. But the loudest voice of all is my own. I never realized the effects of verbal abuse on my self-image until I found myself growing distant from the person I saw in the mirror.

Losing Myself
My freshman and sophomore years of high school were the roughest. I was living with my grandmother, and each day I came home from school, I experienced an internal battle. At home, I was accused of everything from drug dealing to being promiscuous.

During my freshman year of high school, I got a well-paying babysitting job and saved part of my earnings in a special place in my room. One day I came home from school to find my room in disarray. My clothes were strewn across my room and nothing was in its rightful place. As I started to reorganize my things, my grandmother burst into my room.

“Where did you get all this money?” she questioned.

Before I could answer, she continued, “I don’t see how you could make this much money. I really hope you didn’t do anything frisky to get it. You know prostitution is wrong!”

“I work hard and honestly. Any money I make is legit,” I told her, taking the money from her hands. I was filled with disgust. I couldn’t believe my own grandmother would accuse me of abusing my body in such a way. I am not sure where she could have gotten these ideas.

The Final Straw
Once during my sophomore year, after a long day of school and a hot bus ride home, I rushed into the kitchen to answer a ringing phone. I picked up the phone and mumbled a cordial greeting into the receiver. Recognizing the bitter voice of one of my great aunts, I sighed and prepared myself for an argument I knew I would surely lose. But this would not be an ordinary fight.

“You think you’re so smart, but I bet you’ll never be anything in life,” she snarled. “You’re only good enough to be a mother in the projects.”

Speechless, I racked my brain for a retort, but my thoughts were interrupted by a crude dial tone. I couldn’t understand where any of this was coming from. I hadn’t done anything to deserve her demeaning words.

It seemed like suddenly everyone had something negative to say about my life and what my future held. My great aunt’s phone call was the final straw, and soon after that, my troubles with my self-perception escalated far beyond anything I could have imagined.

Because I had begun to believe the things I was always being told at home, my grades started to slip. I became detached from my parents because my mother always made excuses for why my grandmother would accuse me. And I couldn’t tell my father because my mother did not want tension to be created between him and her family. I was so stressed out that I lost interest in my art, social activities and other things that I love.

Finding Myself
I believe a home is a place that is supposed to build you up and shield you from the outside world, but my home had become my hell. In the fall of my junior year, I realized that I couldn’t deal with the abuse any longer, so I finally opened up to my immediate family and friends. That same day, with puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, I hurriedly stuffed all the clothes I could fit into a duffle bag, as my mother, older sister and cousin stood around my bed watching in silence. They couldn’t believe I had endured the events of the stories I told them. They were all extremely supportive and made arrangements for me to move back home with them. They encouraged me to open up and talk about how I felt about myself and reassured me that I was a beautiful, bright person.

The three years I spent living in my grandmother’s house were some of the worst times of my life. Being in an environment where I was belittled, disrespected and unrightfully accused had taken a toll on me mentally, physically and emotionally. I had trouble trusting others, and because I couldn’t open up, my relationships suffered. My friends found it hard to get me to open up about my personal feelings, and I often felt like I was trying to distance myself from them.

The stress I had experienced was so overwhelming that it affected my appetite. My grandmother was obsessed with my weight. She used to tell me, “Don’t walk. You need to run everywhere you go,” or “Your friends are starting to look better than you,” or “You’re already a little thick. Don’t get fat!” After a while, I got so tired of dealing with her comments that I only ate one meal a day. Eventually, things got so bad that when I moved back in with my parents, my mother had to help me train myself to eat regularly again. Hearing all these insults about my weight everyday caused me to start viewing myself negatively. I had begun to think of myself as less of a person. I didn’t like the way I looked and I didn’t believe I had anything valuable to offer to the world. Ultimately, I didn’t believe my life mattered.

The worst part of the abuse was the fact that I tried to reach out for help but couldn’t really find any. My family is very religious, and my grandmother is the most devout, so no one could imagine her saying or doing any of the things I claimed. So I just kept everything to myself. I felt alone, confused and powerless. There were even times when I blamed myself for what happened because I believed that I had to have done something to deserve all the cruel things that were said to me.

I believe that my grandmother and her siblings grew up with their own insecurities, and because they couldn’t receive proper help in their youth, these issues have become worse over the years. I now realize that their own self loathing was probably the reason they found an outlet in attacking me. Now that I have taken the time to find my true identity, I realize that none of what happened meant anything was wrong with me, and none of it was my fault. In order for me to get to that point in my life, I had to realize that I am responsible for taking care of me. I had to take time to encourage myself. I had to look in the mirror and tell myself that I was a beautiful, kind, creative person. And soon I began to see the wonderful qualities I posses.

Lesson Learned
In society, family bonds are always emphasized. People often say, “blood is thicker than water,” but you can’t truly learn the values of family when those closest to you say things that hurt deeper than anything your worst enemy could contemplate.

My social studies teacher once told me that “only in places of discomfort can true growth take place,” and in my case, she was correct. Though living with my grandmother was a rough time in my life, I have learned more about myself than I have known my whole life. I learned that I have wisdom, compassion, knowledge, creativity, and strength to offer to the world that I didn’t know I had before. I am happy with my life and my family now. I distanced myself from my grandmother and aunt for a long time, but I'm beginning to rebuild relationships. My home life is peaceful and healthy. I spend time with my parents and siblings, and I feel free to talk to them about things going on in my life.

My unfortunate experience with verbal abuse has taught me the power of forgiveness and the significance forgiveness plays in my happiness. I think it’s important to realize that as a victim, you have the right to be angry, but you should never be bitter. Take the challenges you have been through and try to make a positive life lesson from them. As long as you emphasize the negativity of the situation, you won’t be able to move beyond the problem. In order to move forward, I had to stop spending so much time thinking about what I could have done to change the situation.

Amber, 17, is a senior at Carver School of the Arts. She loves creating things, hanging with friends, and she loves her life!