warningwarningwarning&alarm

look away if you're frightened of skeletons!


LOOK AWAY.


























I wish I could express how much these photos make me want to cry, but I can barely believe. If you never noticed, I have to ask you... how could you? I blame myself, always and forever... but how?

I just wanted to escape, but Lord, I locked myself in such a cage. I could barely breathe within those confinements. I need air in which to stretch my wings, my massive wings composed of flesh and feathers.

I just want to tell everyone what happened. I was born unto an unprepared mother and an detached father. I was both a blessing and a burden. I was used for their comfort. I was told to be thankful even for things that I thought I deserved. Postpartum depression hit my mother hard and she went away, though I wasn't consciously aware of it. My dad stayed up late and played video-games, a crippled product of insomnia and ADHD. They were unhappy with me and with each other, so they divorced. My parents' parents were the only ones who came close to knowing how to look after me, and they tried their best to do so. Eventually my mother remarried to a parental figure of her own, and my father was often my playmate. I grew up being told I was spoiled and then contradicted by being showered with material possessions. My mother was undiagnosed, having bipolar disorder and often going into manic periods of making unaffordable purchases. My father's ADHD kept him playing the role of companion rather than parent as he never grew into the role of exhibiting signs of responsibility or adulthood. I was often told and shown two different examples to live by. Hugs were as common as arguments, if not less so. I never worried about my looks, though I remember adults' comments about my appearance contrasting the comments of my peers. It still didn't bother me. I grew up wild and free, without boundaries. I was a tooth-gnashing, snarly-haired little beast covered in dirt and grass stains. I wasn't told 'No' often enough, though at the time I loved it. At the age of 10, my mother started seeing other women. That was when I began to have the growing suspicion that she loved me less than before. When I turned 11, my mother and stepfather separated and my mother moved the two of us into her friends' house briefly before we moved in with her new girlfriend. I hated leaving this city. Her girlfriend blamed me for a lot of their problems, and often said I was manipulating my own mother. We didn't get along. One night at the girlfriend's family's house, a guy who was at least five times older than me touched me inappropriately. I have just recently been able to tell people this, and I still catch myself placing the blame squarely on my own shoulders. When I was 13 we moved out, back to the city I loved. She got a new girlfriend soon enough, another one who was emotionally manipulative and blamed me for their issues. I was honest and said I didn't like her, and I was punished. My mother told me that we couldn't afford for her to be single. That was when I definitely began to feel that I was no longer a blessing, but a great burden to be carried halfheartedly. We moved out of the shitty apartment where we had been living and into a house near my best friend and my school. My mother and I got into physical fights and violent arguments as I went through my manic period. The girlfriend was sympathetic but completely unhelpful and said nothing about the physical violence against me. I was 15 when we got into the worst of it, and I left the fight with bruises after she pushed me to the ground. Eventually she broke up with that girlfriend, and I stopped taking the medication that made me so aggressive. At 16 I had gained weight and my mother negatively reinforced it, so much that I was ashamed of my body. She started seeing a new girlfriend, and we competed for my mother's attention. Once again, I felt that she was choosing her girlfriend over me. I started starving and purging after binges. I lost weight. I fought with my mother and with her girlfriend, and they chose each other over me every single time. Lost more. We moved in with her girlfriend. Lost more. Rules. Lost more. Restrictions. Lost more. Fights and arguments. Lost more. She kicked me out. Lost more. I stayed at my grandparents'. Lost more. I stopped seeing my friends. Lost more. They kicked me out. Lost more. Went back to live with my mother and her girlfriend. Lost more. I started over-exercising. Lost more. Got kicked out after only a few weeks. Lost more. Went back. Lost more. Went vegan. Lost more. School ended. Lost more. I turned 17. Lost more. Quit every other addiction. Lost more. School started up again. Lost more and more and more. I couldn't stay awake in school or focus enough to do even one assignment. I couldn't wear my old clothes. I couldn't hang out with friends. I couldn't look in a mirror. I couldn't eat, couldn't not eat. It became too much, and I knew I had to go away. I couldn't cope with the outside world. Before even agreeing, my mother said it wasn't bad enough at that point. My therapist, nutritionist, psychiatrist, and physician all recommended that I go somewhere and get help, but she said it wasn't bad enough. At my height and build, I was so underweight that I bruised where my bones rubbed against my yellowing skin. My hair fell out. My eyesight went bad fast. My nails split. My teeth chipped. I could barely walk and always felt tired, I could barely sleep and always felt exhausted. I couldn't think without obsessing over food and exercise and my shape and weight. I couldn't stand without my vision going dark. So I went away for two months. I got out. Now I'm here, walking a very fine line.

If you never wanted to see, I don't blame you. If you never want to see this again, why would you?