There was a parade in town today.
The flag was flown, the bands played loud,
And soldiers marched by all decorated for
Their bravery . . .
A man with one leg goes by on crutches.
People clap and cheer.
He is honored.
His scars show that he was in battle –
His presence here shows that he has won!
Everyone cheers him as he walks by.
There was no parade for me.
No flags, no bands, no decoration on my chest.
No honor for my bravery . . .
No cheers or clapping as I walk by.
My scars show that I, too, was in a battle,
My presence here shows that I have won!
Where are my cheers as I walk by?
My battle was just as fierce – maybe worse
At times – because my loved ones were the enemy.
My scars do not hold as much honor –
They silently proclaim that I have suffered.
My eyes have seen horrors that could not
Be described
And yet . . . no one treated me with honor
Or compassion.
I was given a label.
Called clinical names.
No ribbons. No honor.
But victory just the same!
I have fought.
I have won!
I was split into many . . .
And I have been restored.
A compassionate ear heard my cries.
Compassionate eyes – saw my pain.
And with fear – I risked to trust her –
And I told the horrors within.
And the chains of my prison . . .
Fell off.
I was released from the bondage of cutting.
No more scars to silently speak for me.
I told her myself.
Slowly I have come together with acceptance of me.
And everyday . . .
I am in a place of honor –
Because I know that I survived
The roughest battle of my life –
By telling about the Hell
Inside.
Joan Cragin