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My story begins in Deepshikha Higher Secondary School, Ghorahi, Dang. A place that was supposed to be an environment for learning turned into a nightmare. The experiences I endured during my time there have left me battling mental health issues well into adulthood. Anxiety. Depression. Fear. All of these have been my constant companions, and I can’t help but wonder if it all began in the classrooms of Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang.
This blog is my attempt to understand and process what happened. To reflect on the connection between corporal punishment, mental health, and the trauma that has followed me through the years. Could the beatings, fear, and abuse I endured be the root of my depression and anxiety today? In this long exploration, I’ll not only recount my experiences but also dive into the science and psychology behind how corporal punishment can lead to long-lasting mental health struggles.
I was in 4th grade at Deepshikha Higher Secondary School, Ghorahi, Dang. It was supposed to be just another ordinary day. I remember it clearly. Mr. Krishna Adhikari, my social studies teacher, made a small mistake on my report card. Instead of writing “21st,” he wrote “21th.” At first, this seemed like a minor error. But little did I know, this small slip-up would be the catalyst for years of abuse.
One of my cousins, who was a founder of the school, noticed the mistake. He pointed it out, and his brother mocked the school for this error. The news eventually reached Mr. Krishna Adhikari, and that’s when everything changed. The atmosphere shifted. What followed was the beginning of a nightmare.
Mr. Adhikari had been a strict but relatively fair teacher when he taught math in prior years. But after the incident with my report card, he became something else. He turned into a tormentor. He started beating me for the smallest reasons. Anything was an excuse for punishment. One day, I was slightly late for class. No explanation. No second chances. He slapped me repeatedly, without hesitation.
Another time, I missed school because I had a fever. Coincidentally, there was a family ceremony at my home on the same day. When the class teacher found out about the ceremony, he didn’t care about my fever. He didn’t care that I was genuinely ill. All he cared about was that I wasn’t at school. He used it as another opportunity to beat me. The physical punishment didn’t stop there. Over the years, Krishna Adhikari found excuse after excuse to hurt me. His name is etched in my memory for all the wrong reasons.
Each day at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang, I lived in fear. There was no escape. It was like walking on eggshells, always wondering what small mistake would lead to another round of punishment. The fear didn’t just last for a moment—it followed me everywhere. Every time I walked into that school, I braced myself for the possibility of another beating. The fear became so ingrained in my daily life that I started to expect the worst.
The mental scars of those experiences stayed with me long after I left the school. I’ve spent years battling anxiety, wondering if I could ever truly escape the effects of what I went through at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang.
In 7th grade, I faced yet another harsh punishment at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. It was during math class. A friend of mine had made a mistake on his classwork. I noticed the error and quietly corrected him. We both smiled, sharing a brief moment of relief and friendship.
But that moment didn’t last long. The teacher, Mr. Hira Pun, saw us. He thought we were mocking him. Without asking any questions, without understanding the situation, he walked over and started slapping us. We weren’t making fun of him. We were just two kids correcting a mistake and sharing a quiet smile. But in the eyes of Mr. Hira Pun, it was a reason to beat us.
That incident, like so many others, reinforced the constant fear I felt in Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. There was no room for joy or friendship in that classroom. Even the smallest moments of happiness were met with harsh punishment.
In 7th grade, I also encountered another teacher who left a lasting impact on me. I don’t recall his name, but I remember him vividly. He was from Narayanpur, and he had no neck. One day, a group of bigger kids sat behind me in class. They began kicking my desk. At first, I tried to ignore it, hoping they would stop. But they didn’t. Eventually, I adjusted my desk to avoid the kicks.
The teacher noticed me moving my desk. Instead of stopping the kids who were harassing me, he walked over and beat me. I wasn’t causing any trouble. I was just trying to defend myself from the bullying. But that didn’t matter. Once again, I was the one punished.
That memory has stuck with me. I wasn’t at fault, yet I was beaten. It was another reminder that at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang, justice didn’t exist for students like me.
Fast forward to today, and I’m still living with the effects of my experiences at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. I’ve been battling social anxiety disorder and depression for years. These conditions have become a part of my life, often hitting me without warning.
Sometimes, I wake up with overwhelming anxiety. It strikes out of nowhere, leaving me feeling paralyzed. Other times, depression takes over. It washes over me like a wave, leaving me feeling numb and unable to move. I retreat into my room, lying in bed for hours, hiding from the world.
It’s been 12 years since I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. Later, my diagnosis expanded to include depression. Since then, I’ve never fully healed. The symptoms come and go, but they never truly leave. Every time I think I’ve made progress, they rebound, dragging me back into a state of despair.
I can’t help but wonder if my mental health struggles are directly linked to the abuse I faced at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. Could the beatings, fear, and humiliation I endured be the root cause of my depression and anxiety today?
Looking back, it seems almost inevitable. The fear I lived with at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang never really left me. It stayed in the back of my mind, shaping my perceptions and reactions to the world around me. Even now, years later, I feel its grip on my mental health.
The connection between childhood abuse and adult mental health issues is well-documented in psychological research. Studies show that corporal punishment can have long-lasting effects on mental health, contributing to anxiety, depression, and other mental health disorders. The abuse I experienced at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang may not just be a painful memory—it could be the foundation of my struggles today.
Research has shown that corporal punishment doesn’t just cause immediate harm. It affects brain development in significant ways. Children who experience it are more likely to develop heightened responses to perceived threats. Their brains become wired to expect danger at every turn. This makes them more prone to anxiety and fear. At the same time, these children struggle to experience positive emotions, making them more susceptible to depression.
Studies from Harvard support these findings. Even milder forms of physical punishment, such as spanking, have been shown to affect brain development in ways similar to more severe abuse. The brain regions responsible for processing fear and decision-making become overactive, leading to increased anxiety and fear responses.
For children who experience regular punishment, the brain starts to expect punishment at every turn. This constant state of fear doesn’t just affect them in the moment. It changes how their brains process the world around them, making them more prone to mental health issues like anxiety and depression later in life.
In my case, it seems clear that the abuse I experienced at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang contributed to my current mental health struggles. The constant fear and punishment I endured at school likely shaped my brain’s responses to the world, leaving me more vulnerable to anxiety and depression.
Beyond the physical punishment, the emotional toll of my experiences at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang cannot be understated. The constant fear of being beaten, the humiliation of being punished for minor infractions, and the sense of helplessness all took a significant toll on my mental well-being.
Psychologists have long recognized that emotional abuse and humiliation can be just as damaging as physical punishment. Children who experience emotional abuse are more likely to develop mental health disorders, including anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The emotional scars left by my time at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang have followed me into adulthood, shaping how I view myself and the world around me.
One of the most damaging effects of corporal punishment, particularly at a young age, is emotional numbness. Research shows that children subjected to regular punishment and humiliation often become desensitized to both pain and pleasure. They learn to shut down their emotions as a defense mechanism. The constant stress, fear, and uncertainty wear them down, leaving them unable to feel joy or sadness in the same way others do.
Looking back at my time at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang, I realize that this numbness was something I developed to survive. Each day was filled with dread, and the only way I could cope was by emotionally detaching myself from the situation. This detachment followed me into adulthood, making it difficult to experience positive emotions fully. Even today, the feelings of numbness and emotional flatness creep in, robbing me of moments that should bring happiness.
For years, I kept quiet about the abuse I faced at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. Talking about it felt pointless, as if my experiences didn’t matter. But as I’ve grown older and learned more about the impact of childhood trauma, I’ve come to realize the importance of sharing my story.
Corporal punishment was normalized at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. It was seen as a necessary tool for discipline, not as an act of violence. But the science is clear. The long-term effects of corporal punishment go far beyond the physical pain. They affect mental health, brain development, and emotional well-being. The abuse I endured at Deepshikha was not an isolated incident. Many students likely faced similar punishments, and many are likely dealing with the same mental health struggles as I am.
Psychologists have long studied the effects of corporal punishment on children’s mental health. The findings are consistent: children who experience physical punishment, especially in school settings, are more likely to suffer from anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, and even post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). These mental health issues don’t just disappear when the punishment stops. They often persist into adulthood, shaping how individuals perceive themselves and the world around them.
In my case, the anxiety and depression I battle with today are deeply connected to my experiences at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. The fear I felt in those classrooms has never fully left me. It manifests in different ways, from the anxiety attacks I experience to the depressive episodes that leave me hiding in my room for days. The emotional and psychological damage done by corporal punishment doesn’t heal overnight. It lingers, affecting every aspect of life.
Healing from the trauma of corporal punishment is a long and difficult journey. For years, I struggled to understand why I felt the way I did. The anxiety and depression seemed to come out of nowhere, with no clear cause. It wasn’t until I started reflecting on my time at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang that I began to connect the dots.
Therapy has played a crucial role in my healing process. Talking to a professional helped me understand how my past experiences have shaped my mental health. It also gave me the tools to manage my anxiety and depression more effectively. While I haven’t fully healed, I’ve made progress. The journey is far from over, but I’m learning how to live with the scars left by my time at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang.
For anyone who has experienced corporal punishment or other forms of childhood trauma, therapy can be a powerful tool. It provides a safe space to unpack the emotional baggage that often comes with these experiences. In my case, therapy has helped me understand the link between my childhood abuse and my current mental health struggles. It’s given me insight into why I react the way I do and how to manage my symptoms more effectively.
But therapy isn’t a cure-all. Healing from trauma is a complex process that requires time, patience, and support. For those of us who have experienced corporal punishment, the scars run deep. It takes more than a few therapy sessions to heal those wounds. But the important thing is to start the process. To acknowledge the pain and seek help.
One of the most frustrating aspects of my experience at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang is how normalized corporal punishment was. Teachers, parents, and even students accepted it as a necessary part of education. It was seen as a way to instill discipline and maintain order. But the science tells a different story.
Corporal punishment does not lead to better behavior or academic performance. In fact, studies show that children who are physically punished are more likely to develop behavioral problems, struggle in school, and suffer from mental health issues. Yet, despite this evidence, corporal punishment continues to be practiced in many parts of the world, including in Nepal.
To the teachers and administrators of Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang, I want to say this: what you did was wrong. The beatings, the humiliation, the constant fear—you created an environment of abuse, not education. You may have thought you were instilling discipline, but in reality, you were causing long-term harm.
I’m not the only one who suffered under your system of punishment. There are countless others who experienced the same treatment. Many of them are likely struggling with anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues today. You were supposed to be educators. But instead, you became tormentors.
It’s time for schools like Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang to change. Corporal punishment has no place in the classroom. The science is clear: physical punishment does more harm than good. It’s time to adopt new methods of discipline that focus on positive reinforcement and emotional support. Children need to feel safe in their learning environments, not fearful.
To the students currently attending Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang, I want you to know that you deserve better. You deserve to learn in an environment that nurtures your growth and development, not one that punishes you for every mistake. If you’re experiencing corporal punishment, speak out. You have the right to a safe and supportive education.
As I reflect on my experiences at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang, I realize that my journey is far from over. The anxiety and depression I face today are a direct result of the abuse I endured as a child. But I’m not letting that define me. I’m committed to healing, to finding peace with my past, and to using my story to advocate for change.
Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang may have been the source of my trauma, but it’s also become the catalyst for my growth. I refuse to let the abuse I faced control my future. Instead, I’m taking control of my narrative, using it as a force for good.
My story is just one of many. Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang is not unique in its use of corporal punishment. But it doesn’t have to stay this way. We can create a future where children are educated in environments of support, not fear. A future where schools like Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang focus on building up students, rather than tearing them down.
It’s time to end corporal punishment, not just in Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang but in schools everywhere. Children deserve better. And as a society, we owe it to them to provide better.
The abuse I faced at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang left me with lasting scars, but it also gave me the strength to fight for change. My hope is that by sharing my story, I can help bring about that change.
Let’s make sure no child ever has to endure what I did at Deepshikha Ghorahi Dang. Let’s build a future of compassion, not fear.