Finally an Update!

Hello, I would like to apologise to my followers for falling into a sort of rut in terms of motivation and energy for many months. Lots of things seemed to stagnate in my life, like my relationship,  the movement of things outside of my control such as events regarding my siblings and myself sort of energetically. I suspect this might have had something to do with the antidepressants I took for rosacea, having received a free sample of maca I feel a lot better, so that might have something to do with my attempt at refocusing myself. Additionally I am having some relationship problems as a nice organic love triangle developed, but I won’t get into that here. This seems to provide me with a bit of motivation to improve myself.

I am going to focus on some key elements in this update.

Academically I left Psychology with a 2.1 and returned to Philosophy. I have utterly bummed this semester due my issues with motivation and hope I can compensate for this in the 3 semesters remaining. That said I am enjoying all of my lectures. Though my attendance is very poor.

In terms of the situation with my siblings, who live with my neglectful mother, who also neglected and abused me, one of them has been made to leave the nest. On June the 22nd my then 12 year old disabled brother, came to live with us, having been scratched, bruised and pinched by my mother. Under police advice, my brother was sent to live us. He never returned to his mother. Because the investigation is now over, I can post pictures of the marks.

At the moment we are looking for a bigger house, and our current flat is overcrowded and under-decorated as we await our new home.

In terms of health, I unfortunately enjoyed a sigmoidoscopy, and a SIBO breath test, both of which found nothing. The only other things I can think of pursuing right now pertain to parasite stool samples and thyroid tests. I was on the FODMAP diet for some months and it didn’t really do anything. At the moment my gut is functioning near normally, and my rosacea is  essentially the same as when I initially started taking citalopram even though I am eating very unhealthily and drinking right now. This means I only have a major flush about once a week, and my rosacea doesn’t appear to be progressing at all.

In terms of facial development, my face seems a lot rounder. My implant has been completed, which has filled out my right cheek to a slight degree and offered support to the right side of my lips.

Here you can see the progression from large gap, to healing gap which resulted in the gum healing in a circle with a gap ready for the implant, and the implant inserted as to fill the gap. The whole process was relatively painless. It took a few days to get accustomed to the implant, as I kept biting my cheek until it I cut it. But this no longer happens and my implant feels as warm and natural as a regular tooth. Having had the implant inserted I feel my enunciation has improved and chewing feels easier.

Below you can see how my lower lip seems more supported, which is a general trend I have noticed in pictures since the insertion of the implant.


The differences in the more deformed right side of my face, courtesy of child abuse induced tooth loss, have been much slower but notable. Despite the fact all I have maintained since I lost most off my motivation has been my oral posture, rather than any gum chewing.

Notice the fuller profile, the rounder jaw, and the slight difference in gradient of the nasolabial fold. The first picture is from November last year, and the second picture is from today, the 31st of December 2015. My skin quality has obviously improved, despite a recent acne break out from falling out of the habit of washing my mineral sunscreen off before going to sleep.

I have found that the supplementation of spirulina seems to help prevent acne. This is likely due its role in the alleviation of lipid peroxidation. I am currently experimenting with a few antioxidant topicals, which might be relevant to rosacea too. I suggest anyone with rosacea, checks Instanatural and Camden Cosmetics on Amazon.


My hair has grew a surprising amount in a year, which might be a reflection of greater focus on minerals and protein.

here 2

In terms of new experiences in overcoming the sort of fears and anxieties mediated by child neglect and emotional abuse, this year I went down a sort of super slide, did my first bout of semi-independent traveling, ate squid and all sorts of foods for the first time, got my first tattoo and professional piercings, went on a speed boat, got some ferrets, planned out my first independent travel to London and probably did some other stuff I can’t remember. Unfortunately my trip to Amsterdam fell through due to a combination of passport office issues and my own failure in terms of motivation.


To close here is a comparison of passport pictures from 3 years ago, up until around about now. This is what abuse and determination can do to people.

before and after

 

 

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How Child Abuse Liberated Me.

This post concerns how the experience of something very prolonged, multifaceted and negative can be transformed into a sort of psychological strength, or drive. Again, this post might be a little abstract.

Child abuse liberated me, because I have known a point wherein I had to do something, that is I was either going to kill myself or I was going to find a way to overcome its consequences. Back in 2013 I was very sick, much sicker than I am now, hideous, essentially poor, isolated and unable to conceive of how I would find happiness in a world that seemed to want to destroy me. I simply could not imagine how things would get better, when everything seemed only to rapidly disintegrate. It was then in the stairwell of a dilapidated tower block that a series of vague longings, I had long since had in a dispersed fashion, convoluted together to form a promise and a plan.  I promised myself that I would not kill myself without doing everything in my power to alter my situation and fate. Only after demonstrating that there was indeed nothing in the world for me could I allow myself the option of suicide. After considerable reflection I broke the different ways in which I was damaged into categories, assigned each category a year and order, and gave the associated year a title. Each year was made up of a series of main goals, broken down into subgoals and assignments. And, so it began.

I did many things, so many I cannot remember, in following my pursuit. There are of course the main things like arranging the funding for my dental implant in January, completing accutane, laboriously putting together a skin care routine, changing my diet, changing my oral posture and whatnot, but there were other things too. These smaller activities often resembled everyday life activities  that those who were not neglected as a child who were the around the same age as me, had been able to do for a long time. Generally I pursued my goals in isolation and with little to no input from others.

In pursuing my goals I was able to realise the latent strengths in myself, I was able to actively create my own practical strengths and happiness, and take control of my life. In a sense I was free to realise myself. In my isolation, enforced by both myself and the world, I found freedom from the rules and values of my immediate world. I was free to look at the world and see it in a way that may not be available to those who participate in it. I saw its contradictions and falsities and in doing so I liberated myself from some of the hold these falsities had over me. I saw that unattractiveness was not in fact an absolute barrier to the acquisition of love, and merely required a change in tactics. I used to believe that for my peers, ignorance was bliss. In fact the very reason they were ignorant, meant that they were unable to prevent and work around many of the negativities that affected them in their lives, which caused them continuous grief. In fact, they often experienced more everyday suffering and drama in time than me.

In the end I was liberated from many of the beliefs that haunted me and caused me despair. While, I am not immune to the affections of others, I became better able to manufacture of my own accomplishment, esteem and happiness. Because other people did not appreciate me, I was free from them, and from there I was able to create and appreciate myself. In defining who I wanted to be, and pursuing my hypothetical future self, I developed my own standards against which to weigh myself. My understanding of the ways in which I had been damaged, my analysis of my experiences, and my desire to know myself such that I could fix myself allowed for personal depth. I began to embody a sort of authenticity that in time became known and appreciated by others. Individuals began to see me as interesting, self aware, determined, resilient, much more confident and invulnerable than before. Humans tend to recognise strengths irrespective of their form. Soon I began to see myself as occupying a privileged position, of being able to view a rarely discussed,  rarely seen, facet of human existence, and use that experience to bare witness to different levels of human reality. The paradox is that the very crimes committed against me are to a great degree, the source of my strengths today.

In this sense, my ‘mother’, who I believe is a psychopath or a sociopath has ultimately failed. Her desire for dominion, ‘vengeance’, and willing victims, is partly unfulfilled. While she may have those who believe in her, despite the contradictions she makes, the lack of empathy she shows, and the impulsiveness of her actions, she has ultimately failed to crush those closest to her. Me and my father are ever growing in resources, health and confidence. Although damaged not a single one of her children have succumb to despair or believe in her. In the sphere of psychological dominion she has lost. She has failed to crush the spirits of her own vulnerable and dependent children. The cards she plays are slowly being used up, and the pillars of her power continuously crumble.

How Does it Feel to be a Neglected Child?

The physical abuse of children is a lot less common and talked about a lot more than child neglect, even though the consequences can be disastrous in either case. I have found very few personal stories concerning child neglect on the internet, and I hope today by trying to explain how I felt as a child, to help fill that void. This may be more abstract than you think, as though I am spreading the consciousness underpinning memories  out, and dissecting the associated cognition and experience.

In my earliest memories my ‘mother’ is either not there at all, or about to smack me for some infantile transgression. In one memory she is about to smack me for putting pennies into the vent gaps on a TV. I do not have a single happy memory of me and my ‘mother’, no where in my mind has she wished me happy birthday,  has she hugged me, or tucked me in, or said she was proud of me. I think she has complimented me regarding my appearance on a number of occasions, but I believe that the compliments were an externalisation of a way in which she is disturbed. That is to say, my ‘mother’ has a strange sort of sexuality, and that this sexuality sometimes extended to how she viewed her children.

She did not sexually abuse any of her children, but she did do things that were in inappropriate like taking her underage daughter shopping in a sex shop. When I was a child she would make comments regarding my ‘good figure’ which I thought were creepy. After  I lost my virginity she bought me a pair of earrings and congratulated me. She attempted pathetically to bond with me over sex toy catalogues at one point, most likely because my father threatened to leave, in part because she kept arguing with me. My dad saw my ‘mother’ as the aggressor and did not really see our fights as ‘arguments’ at all. One time I did something strange while we were shopping, I was about 7 years old, and I lifted the back of her shirt and stroked her back while she wasn’t looking. When she asked who it was, I said it was a stranger man, and she was pleased. When I was very small my mother committed a Class B sexual offence, as she had sex in front of me and my siblings. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old, and I remember wondering what she was doing. In my view my ‘mother’ is either morally blind and horny, or sexually disturbed.

So, any nice things my ‘mother’ said or did, did not seem nice at all. When I remember her, I see her living a life I was not part of, I see her walking past me, eating cheese in the kitchen, playing on video-games, and reading books. Because there was little interaction, my life seemed empty, and because it was empty there was neither a conceivable past or future. I wasn’t sad per say, and I certainly wasn’t happy, but I knew something wasn’t right. I was simply too young to figure it out. There were fleeting feelings of resentment, I knew something was wrong, and the adults that were supposed to fix things were not fixing it. I was confused by how different I was to the other children, I couldn’t quite verbalise it in my mind, and simply experienced shock at how different I was. I sort of knew that other children had better faces, were less sick, and had very different lives. At the age of 7 I came to the conclusion that my ‘mother’ was mean and bad. Before that realisation I already had a strong preference for my father. One time, at about the age of 3, I ran across a road in front of traffic to join my dad on the other side, and in doing so I ran away from my ‘mother’. I said I wanted to “be with daddy”.

In primary school I cried a lot. I cried because I wanted friends, I cried because I lost games, I cried because no one liked me, and I cried because I was different. I think I was really crying because of weakness, because I had come to exist in a form that people could not appreciate. In this way, I knew that I had become damaged because of the mysterious thing, that wrong thing. During school I was tired all of the time. I walked the playground endlessly alone, sometimes in circles, watching the leaves fall and feeling the wind on my face. I didn’t feel lonely, but the experience of being alone is remarkably similar to how it feels being a neglected child. Being a neglected child is like being trapped in a room with no understanding of how you got there, whether you will ever leave, watching yourself degenerate while being unable to stop it, and feeling that there is some ominous problem that you can’t place.

In my opinion the real pain of child neglect manifests later, in fact it is sort of like a delayed version of physical abuse. The physical pain comes from the subtle damages caused, that become apparent later, and way the world treats you because of it. The pain of the illnesses that afflict you, the physical decay that haunts your body, the anguish of the opportunities you have never known, and of those you never will. It becomes extremely visceral, most likely in adolescence. The feeling of anguish regarding what has become of your body and life is so great it cannot be expressed in words, it cannot be held consciously in your mind, and you can only cry. Those feelings of pain must be translated into forms that are containable like words and action, because there is nothing else that can be done with them.

In 2010, when I was about 15 years old, I wrote the following.

“I’ve long since adopted the concept that I must be a stone, cold, smooth and strong. Wrapped in a warped sense of apathy I edge towards you; a swaggering step and a solid brow. You should know you need to turn the world against me to dent this callus.

Mulling alone encased in the solitude of a lone shade on a summer’s noon, I wondered why if what words had left my mouth were false you still acted so deliciously defensive. Wetting my lips in a daydream I watched and listened. There she is. Trouble. You bring your army, who bicker and bitch below the ruckus you hear and await a bloodbath while wearing sadistic sneers. I grin into the heat. Hit me. A swarm of locusts consume the surrounding space then gnaw my mask like hungry rodents; cursing the air I breath.

Extraversion has been leaking from my pours since the first day of school, dirty and foolish. I was wearing my scabby knees, haystack locks and crumpled cloth carelessly. Strutting in my squalor. I once read that mothers and fathers keep their most prized, most beautiful, genetic material close; allowing the homely to wander into the mist. You have your priorities and I have my pride. Sitting with my swollen eyes, bloody knuckles and undeveloped mindset I fell into fantasy. I counted the gaps in the fence, collected the dry autumn leaves, dissected worms, traced patterns in the mud and hummed to the whistle of the wind. I am the lonely child, the taunted one with blood shot eyes who you buried in the snow and slammed into the wall.”

The Pets are Dead.

socks

Socks.

one of the many kittens

One of Panda’s many kittens.

Chocolate.

Chocolate.

Tiger.

Tiger.

Toby.

Toby.

IMG_20130105_180029

One of Panda’s kittens called Jasper went to live safely with my previous boyfriend. Here he is being inspired by gerbils.

My 'baby' Whiskers. He cuddles up to me every night and follows me around the house affectionately. He lives happily with me and dad.

My ‘baby’ Whiskers. He cuddles up to me every night and follows me around the house affectionately. He lives happily with me and dad.

I found Sooty II starving outside The House, on a bin.

I found Sooty II starving outside The House, on a bin.

Starving Sooty.

Starving Sooty II.

Sooty II was moved to a temporary house a week after been found. He is safe at last.

Sooty II was moved to a temporary house a week after been found. He is safe at last.

Sooty II is safe

Sooty II is safe

My ‘mother’s’ cruelty was not just reserved for my father, or her children. It is more the case that it radiated out from her in all directions. This will be a brief post, and it concerns the direct and indirect pain my ‘mother’ has wrought on animals. It also briefly mentions the fate of the pets in the old house, and how my mother viewed animals.

In the old house, that is house where I was for about a decade, where my mother and father lived together since I was seven years old there were many pets. At one point we had either 12 or 13 cats and a dog. I’ll be talking about the younger pets, because I don’t remember too much about our first two cats, Sooty and Susie. At one point we had the following pets, cats including Chocolate, Sooty II, Panda, Patch, Socks, Tiger, and a dog called Toby. Most of the pets were young to sort of middle age by the end of our time at the house, which I will now refer to as The House.

Generally the pets were well fed, but infested with fleas, and worms. When I was really young and my siblings used to throw the pets and swing them about as part of an imaginary fairground for cats, we were not stopped, and I think we might have traumatised Chocolate some. Some of the pets, especially Sooty II suffered with some untreated skin lesions that oozed and caused bald patches. Note the word, untreated. Chocolate appeared to have some sort of mammary tumour, that was also untreated. My ‘mother’ was quite strange when Chocolate was in heat and would masturbate the cat, in a way that strikes me as mildly disturbed. One of the cats, Panda had a heart murmur and needed to be neutered as having kittens would overstrain her heart, however she was left unneutered. Panda had many litters, perhaps four or five in her short life as she had a docile demeanor and was a doting mother for her many kitten litters. She did not die during her pregnancies and births but it was a possibility all along.

My dad was generally at work, and the cleanliness of the house sort of depended on my ‘mother’. One summer the house was infested with fleas. Panda had two kittens at the time, both would have lived had the fleas been dealt with, but instead they bled to death.

Her kittens were generally given away haphazardly and were usually passed on multiple times between people in a concerning fashion. I doubt they were treated well in any case. My ‘mother’ gave many of the kittens to a friend, who in the end, kept none of the kittens in the long term for various obscure reasons. It was always the kitten’s fault, even though she had many of our kittens with their different temperaments , and never due to an incapacity to cope with the demands of ownership.

Toby, the dog was an overly friendly creature, who was utterly harmless. We were once burgled in the night, and Toby sort of rubbed up to the burglars, and licked them. They gave the dog a stroke and put him in the kitchen with the door closed. Unfortunately it is Toby’s  harmless nature that makes him a bit of a victim. My ‘mother’ reserved some of her direct cruelty for the dog, and would jam his jaws shut and kick him. Sometimes one or two of the children would hit the dog, and were allowed to do so. When struck Toby would yelp and cower under the sink. Later he would emerge at friendly as before I miss him.

Patch had her tail broken when it was accidentally slammed in a door, perhaps by me I was young and don’t remember, and it was untreated. The bone reset in a bent broken form.

Socks was my dad’s favourite pet, after Sooty died, and would follow my dad all over the place. He would jump to the curb and wait near where my dad parked his car after work, when the car was parked, he would jump on the roof and be stroked by my dad. He followed my dad to karate and into the dojo once, and had to be carried home. Sometimes he would partly follow my dad to the shops. As much as a cat can, Socks loved my dad. Weirdly, he once ejaculated on my dad after he sat down on the couch with a towel having been in the shower. My ‘mother’ attempted to use Socks as leverage to upset my dad. When she was abusing my dad, she would claim that she wanted rid of the cat, for my dad apparently loved Socks more than her. When my dad was made homeless by my ‘mother’, he was not allowed to see Socks, and my ‘mother’ apparently moved Socks away so he couldn’t see him again. That said, ‘mother’ attempted to use the possibility of my dad seeing the cat again as persuasive leverage whenever she wanted something from my dad.

Tiger, and a young cat or kitten called Whiskers, were procured from my ‘mother’ before her spleen ruptured and live happily with us. When my mother’s spleen spontaneously ruptured, and she went into a coma because of her alcohol dependency, the pets had to part ways. Panda, Patch, Toby, and Chocolate were taken away. Toby and Patch found new homes but the other two were put down in part because of untreated medical issues. It is also possible that Chocolate simply ran away, but I know that at least one of them died. Sooty II was not taken away, he was not caught, and I found him starving outside of The House one day when I was nostalgically passing by. He made strange strangled cries, he was choking on nothingness, his fur was brown were once it was black, his frame was disturbingly boney,his teeth sort of gnarled, and he had cuts on his nose and body. Sooty II was starving to death. Of course, I fed him, and with the help of a friend and volunteer at Cat Protection he was relocated to a sort of farm refuge. The journey to one the way stop houses was awful, we had to carry him in a cage, but he pulled up the base and had diarrhea which coated all the bars. We arrived covered in feces, having been asked by passersby whether we were animal abusers. Sooty lives happily on a farm with lots of other animals today. I am forever grateful for the actions of that friend. Socks was either run over or moved away. My dad was driving past one of Socks’ usual haunts and passed a familiar looking ginger corpse on the roadside. He didn’t speak for a while.

My mother did not love the pets so much, for the most part they were objects with utility, that proved to be of some amusement. She did not stroke the pets, or care for the pets, my dad fed the pets, and cared for the pets as was the case with the children. In other words my mother cared for neither child, spouse, nor pet.

A Statement of Intent.

My mother, by texting my sister and talking to another, has stated the following;

  • She would like to stop my father from seeing his children (they visit near every Saturday, and some of them stay over night)
  • She would like to take me to court
  • She states that she would like to stop me from seeing my siblings

This is because of my blog content, which she has discovered. In other words, individuals have found my Facebook page were some of my posts were previously linked, and notified my mother of the content. Or she has found my page herself despite supposedly blocking me. But, I am not denying that she has not blocked me.

Because there is no evidence stemming from an objective authority such as a solicitor or social worker saying that my blog posts must cease, there is no reason for me to cease activity. However should a valid authority tell me to remove my blog or specified content, I will do so graciously.

In the interests of all parties I have double checked anonymity, removed an image, and removed mentionings of some of my siblings forenames. I do not wish to make my mother identifiable or incite any harm towards her.

I have also altered my Facebook privacy settings and removed some of the post links for my psychological comfort.

However, I do not see why the person who abused me as a child should prevent me from expressing my perspectives on the internet. In continuing my blog I chose to exercise my right to free speech, and I am prepared to go to court to defend it.

That said, I would also like to apologise for any psychological distress this blog may have caused readers. I am not intending to cause problems or harm. I simply intend to express myself, to share my story with other people who have been abused, and make sense of my experiences.

I may in the end move my content to another blog, but that would probably not secure privacy as I will not delete content unless given impetus from a valid authority.

I will give my mother the opportunity to discuss and negotiate matters pertaining to the blog with me, via indirect means such as phone, email, text, or video call.

For now, I will proceed in creating my posts in a more cautious fashion,

Toys, Cakes, Child Neglect and Domestic Violence

When I was younger, I generally had just as many, if not more toys and games than other children. There was a great deal of treat food in the house too, the cupboards were generally well stocked. I think it is possible that when one social worker visited, she mistook how the children were pleased with their new shiny toys for a sign of domestic harmony and happiness. Most children from neglectful households stem from even poorer socioeconomic groups, and most likely had less material possessions than me and my siblings. So, how does this work, how is it that children with so many things can be neglected and emotionally abused? I would like to add at this point, that me and one of my younger sisters, if not more of us, have been inappropriately struck by our ‘mother’. But, physical abuse of children was not common in our household. No, my dad received the worst of my ‘mother’s’ physical aggression.

Well, unlike many neglectful households, we had a father and a nice one of that. He knew things are were very wrong, and knew that things were unsustainable, whilst also knowing what would happen to the children if he left my ‘mother’. My father tried desperately to financially support the household, as my ‘mother’ had long ceased to pay her way, and instead she spent a massive portion of our income on alcohol and cigarettes. She drunk so much that she managed to make her spleen spontaneously rupture after he finally decided to leave. If, you could call it that. My father was in a horrific situation, he was working increasingly absurd hours, driving home in a fit of exhaustion, doing his best to clean the house some, feverishly attempting to prepare the children for school, and scoffing down whatever was at hand, before collapsing into bed. It was worse too, as my ‘mother’s’ drinking worsened she became progressively more and more aggressive.

At some point she had started to mock him, to deride him, to walk into the kitchen where he was pushing down food and verbally abuse him. Perhaps she would call him selfish, perhaps she would confront him over the dire financial situation the house was in, or for some mysterious reason accuse him of drinking too much or cheating, both of which she was doing at the time. He was doing neither, of course. It was a slow process. In time she began to throw things at him. The children would put their ears to the floor and hear shouting, screaming, and the crashing of objects. Most of the children, some were only about 5 or 6, did not understand what was happening. Their voices were characterised by confused trepidation, “why are mommy and daddy shouting?”

Of course, it was only a matter of time before my ‘mother’ was striking and attempting to choke my father every night for months. Sometimes the children would walk downstairs in the middle of night, most of the time my father tried to defuse the situation, and told them to go to bed or they would get into trouble. But, sometimes, especially towards the culmination of the situation, the older children with their narrow tear stained faces would actively try and stand in the way of my ‘mother’ as to prevent her from hitting my father. It is a bit of a blur, but I think I remember my closest younger sister trying to push my ‘mother’ away from my father. When I stayed at the house, and usually my ‘mother’ would not allow me even though I technically lived there, I would to interfere as much as possible. She didn’t want me there, as I would require funding and care, which would detract from her alcohol funds. Whether or not that was the right decision, I do not know, my father was a martial arts instructor and so he was unlikely to be harmed. Surprising, I know. The older children and me might have actually caused my father further stress, because he was trying desperately to protect us from the reality of the situation.

On one occasion my ‘mother’ picked up a plank of wood, one of the beds was broken, and began to chase my father with it. I attempted to disarm her and called the police. They arrived and she sunk into her bed upstairs and sobbed uncontrollably saying she was depressed and drunk. The police did nothing. In trying to intervene during the abuse I was scratched, bitten, had my hair pulled, my limbs pinched and pressed, and had objects thrown at me. My ‘mother’ tried to strike me on numerous occasions but she did not succeed, either because of my father’s intervention, or because I outmaneuvered her. At one point she raised her fist in preparation to punch me in the head, and I sort of palmed her in the face  Some time later my father finally struck her back, he punched her a number of times in the early hours of the morning. Her eye was blackened and she seemed apologetic. They had strange emotionally charged sex.

The next day, I had stayed at my previous boyfriend’s house that night, I was on the phone to my father. He explained that my ‘mother’  had gone somewhere and not returned. He had had to pick up the children from school. While we were on the phone, there was a knock on the door, and I heard the voice of a police officer. My father did not hang up for he was soon handcuffed and I listened as he was taken to a police station. He had been accused of assault and domestic violence. My mother told our neighbors, her friends, and some school teachers that my dad was a domestic abuser and rapist. She said that my younger siblings were a product of rape. Eventually my dad was released from the station and he had nowhere to go. My ‘mother’ had been to a solicitor and had a restraining order placed on the house so he could not return. He was homeless, she would not allow him to have his property, and soon I was to join him. I visited my ‘mother’ and she told me that she had given my room away to one of siblings, when I asked where I was to sleep, she replied “not here” and went back indoors. She closed the door on me. I had dared to call the police regarding her, and I had fervently defended my father.

You see, the root of the matter is that my father did not want the children to suffer. While he was working my mother would essentially neglect and emotionally abuse her children. Sometimes she wouldn’t prepare meals, often the children were ill but uncared for, she would not interact with them, they were left to stew in squalor and filth, there were maggots near the sink, the pets had fleas and parasites, food rotted on the floor, parents evenings were unattended, and birthdays were ignored. The children wandered about the house with their hair infested with lice, with cavities, with their mouths hanging open, with infections, and raw  scratches. They were behaviourally defunct. My dad tried his best to remedy the situation, he took the children to the GP if he wasn’t working, he attended the parent’s evenings that could fit around his work, sometimes he would cook, often he would clean what he could, and he dealt with all the birthdays to the best of his ability. When I struggled at school because my language skills were essentially delayed, and I had emotional difficulties, he would work through my homework with me in the evening. He bought me books on science, chemistry sets, art sets, and unlike my ‘mother’ he was actually nice to me. I didn’t see him as often as I would have liked but I was always happy to spend what time I could with my dad. If my dad had left my ‘mother’ earlier, and I had not have hypothetically gone into care, I honestly feel that is possible that I would not be here today.

What is interesting is that the worse the situation became, the less money my dad had spare, the more he tried to give. There is sort of a positive trend between how elaborate our Christmases were and how abusive my mother was. I imagine that the toys were my dad’s way of apologising for the lives we lived, even though it wasn’t his fault. Strangely, when I was a child the more stressed I became with my ‘mother’s’ shouting at me, the more toys I destroyed.

Reflection 3. 29.12.14. The Ugly Duckling.

During my late adolescence I was notoriously unattractive. I had an extremely weak chin, a severe overbite and overjet, my face was covered in cystic acne and style was certainly not my saving grace. These days I still have a severe overbite and overjet, and a weak chin but you can’t tell because I ‘hold’ my face differently. It is less an aesthetic problem and more of a functional and structural one.

From the ages of 16 to 19 my life was very different to how it is now. I was regularly insulted by strangers in the street, in person and in vehicles, and shop clerks either ignored me or made passive aggressive comments regarding skin products. Sometimes I would be insulted in the street multiple times in a day. I remember the day my previous boyfriend’s drunken father chastised him for his low standards, stated that I wasn’t fit to be a ‘Friday special’, and resorted to saying ‘eww’ repeatedly in a desperate  effort to describe how hideous I was. One day I asked my previous boyfriend whether he found me attractive, and without conviction he looked at the floor and said I was pretty.  Of course, I knew this wasn’t true. Another one of my previous boyfriends said something along the lines of “I was debating whether I was going to ask you out or not, as you have loads of spots” and later added “sometimes it looks flaky too, ewww”. On another occasion I was nominated for an academic award in college, the usual routine was to take a picture of the winning individual and put it in the main passage, however the principal decided to find someone else to nominate. I am sure you can guess that I wasn’t attractive enough to be one of the poster children of a middle class college. This was my life, even my best friend said I was unattractive.

When I wasn’t been insulted, intentionally, or otherwise, I was invisible. Of course people didn’t invite me to events, of course no one went out of their way to seek my friendship, and of course almost no one or no one found me attractive. I did not exist as a human with a sexuality or the capacity for enjoyment. I was outside of some sort of world occupied by attractive people. It is difficult to describe. When I walked in the street it was almost as though I was surrounded by a fog. I might be able to describe by comparison, nowadays people make eye contact with me, people smile at me, they are usually interested in what I have to say, I have even been flirted with at a party, and shop clerks tell me to have a nice day. Last week the same best friend who told me I was unattractive around a year ago, said I had an attractive personality and appearance. It’s a difference in atmosphere. I can walk into a fashion shop without receiving stares.

I don’t think I am unattractive anymore. In superficial terms it is like I have graduated from a hideous 3/10 to an okay 6/10 (but not from the right side of my face) in about a year. It’s a transition I doubt many make as rapidly. Interestingly the previous boyfriend recently sent me a message on Facebook telling me that he now has a job, is getting his own place and still thinks of me. I found his idiocy deplorable for a multitude of reasons, I am now in a relationship with a wonderful man, we are incompatible in personality, he is not nearly as ethical as he thinks he is, and did not treat me with the respect I deserved in the relationship. I blocked him and I will never talk to him again. Needless to say my life is very different now.

This is quite a drastic shift for me and it presents itself as a fairly complex experience. It shows the obvious in that in the public sphere appearance has great importance, but says nothing of the importance of other qualities in more personal settings. There seems to be some kind of gulf between our evolutionary drives and the consciousness of the everyday and so I was able to live somewhat ‘outside’ of human sexuality and comparisons of attractiveness for some time. I cannot yet place the subtles of this gulf.

I was so unattractive in brief, as the majority of the blog concerns this, because I was neglected and abused by my mother as a child and adolescent. I was not fed sufficiently, I was rarely afforded new clothes, and I was not cleaned or taught how to maintain myself as a child. I was not spoken to, In was not breastfed, and I was not treated when I was ill. In the end for whatever reason, perhaps from lack of chewing, lack of nutrition, and some mouth breathing, my face developed vertically and asymmetrically. I acquired some sort of GI disorder after being left as usual for too long in a state of sickness, which is heavily connected to my skin problems. I am short, generally underweight, have wonky crowded gnarled teeth, covered in a light dusting of acne scars, and I have a narrow face. During my late adolescence my mother threw me out after peaking her domestic abuse of my father. And so, I did not have the resources to be overly hygienic and look after myself. I had few clothes and these were generally in a state of disrepair. Taking all of this together, you can see why I was so unattractive.

Interestingly having left my ‘mother’, me, my father, and my younger sister have become progressively healthier and more attractive whilst the opposite is true of my siblings who still live with her. It is also worth noting that there isn’t a single individual that I know who is from a bad background, in terms of abuse or values, who is attractive. I am not saying that there are no attractive individuals who have been abused. I am saying that when abuse and family values stand in the way of health and development, more often than not, unattractive individuals will result. Additionally I acknowledge that some individuals are born genuinely unattractive in spite of having a blessed background. But, generally a bad background precedes unattractiveness in my view. It follows that when people mock other individuals for being unattractive, they are usually mocking people who by no choice of their own, were subject to developmentally poor backgrounds.

When I altered my oral posture and worked on my flaws I concluded that most people can recover attractiveness. It is merely a matter of understanding the process of disintegration and creating long term action plans regarding the core issues underpinning one’s unattractiveness. Unfortunately I think its a process that requires a certain obsession and the capacity to transcend commonly held beliefs like you cannot change your face without surgery, like the notion that bone is dead, and that GI issues cannot be cured. When you invest in yourself, when are you are honest, when you express your weaknesses, when you can say that you are an ill individual, and you are willing to be a little selfish to recover, you just might succeed. That said, this may not be possible for everyone. I believe that because the face is a living thing, open to manipulation, that most people can be more attractive. Not only that but the lifestyle changes I have made to compensate are really paying off, I am aging comparatively slower than my partying attractive peers, and now look slightly younger than my biological age. As time progresses and I become more disciplined and advanced this difference in aging will only increase.

I would also like to add that I do not believe being unattractive tends to prevent people from forming healthy romantic relationships. In my own experience, and having witnessed this is regards to others, unattractive people tend to acquire unattractive partners and they genuinely love each other. The same principles underpinning love apply to unattractive people to. Chemistry and sexuality is not the sole reserve of attractive individuals. I was at my most hideous in college, and while I was never flirted with or otherwise, I did manage to form friendships which developed into romantic relationships. In fact I managed a grand total of four relationships during my mid and late adolescence while being hideous. I might add that I was extroverted and zany back then and actively hunted down individuals to be friends with. I was very confident in my intelligence and creativity. So, my advice to an unattractive individual in finding a partner would be to forget about formal dating where people are differentiated based on appearance. Go make friends with people who you get along with doing things you enjoy. Be nice to individuals and appreciate them for what they really are. Do not set out with an ulterior motive to make friends with individuals based on their appearances, because your intentions will betray you and the chemistry won’t be there. If you are authentic in your endeavors, chemistry will take care of the rest without you having to worry. In fact, if anything, being unattractive will reduce your employment prospects, pay, the rewards you receive in life, and the amount of general respect you are afforded as a human being. That, is what I think unattractive people should be concerned about. So, remember just keep looking and eventually you will find someone. I promise.

To close I will summarise by saying the differences in how attractive and unattractive people are treated is incomprehensible. It is almost like humans cannot contain their disgust, as though something was so vulgar that profanities escaped their mouths without thought. Human reality is indeed separated into very distinct levels much of which you will never know. Generally people who are unattractive are from backgrounds that discourage good development and are punished for this by individuals who are also unattractive and often by more attractive others from good backgrounds. That said the principles of facial development and a proactive problem solving approach can allow most individuals to become more attractive. Unattractive people will generally find unattractive partners who will love them and therefore should be more concerned about their financial and social prospects. This is how I understand the situation so far, I have no answers, but I do have insights and suggestions. I do not yet understand how I psychologically survived being a homeless, ugly, child abused creten so I have no advice regarding psychological maintenance as of yet.

In 2013, my face really was that bad.

In 2013, my face really was that bad.

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Back in summer I still looked awful, you can see I did not know how to care for curly hair at this point.

Even when my skin became clear in the summer, my face still looked really weird. This picture was took on my mobile camera, like the two pictures below.

Even when my skin became clear in the summer, my face still looked really weird. This picture was took on my mobile camera, like the pictures below.

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In December 2014, the difference is insane.

In December 2014, the difference is insane.

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A little bit of facial redness in this one.