Self image

So I’ve been watching this confronting tv-show today. Of people going entirely overboard with their looks and using it as a mask. A way to protect themselves. That’s nothing new to me obviously.

If I look to the facts, like having starved myself to 36kg a few years ago and being covered with scars it wouldn’t be strange to say that I have a distorted self image.

Which is funny because it seems I was the opposite of that the last half year when I got so involved with modelling and filming porn. The jobs I have and all that, completely focussing on self image. Only amplifying this obsession with looks. To look perfect instead of healthy, while perfection is an illusion. There is no such thing.

Everyday is dressing up day. Even when I tone it down and wear sweatpants. If I don’t then I don’t feel that protection to get through the day. As a kid I’ve learned how to use it, combined with a big imagination. Could just help out with being a highly sensitive person.

On a side note, what also “helped” when there was tension in the house, was becoming almost invisible. To not bother anyone. Just soaking up the bad vibes and trying to mend that energy, being a good little girl. Read: suffer in silence. I heared from my mom, this weekend, for the first time that she knew I did that because she was like that too. Though they just let me isolate myself, feeling unseen, unheared and emotionally neglected. We did so many picture perfect family things. So it’s all devided in my memory. All good, all bad. Though it must have been in the middle somewhere.

With self image too, it’s all good, it’s all bad but actually it’s somewhere in the middle.

After yesterdays shoot I went straight to my sister and her bf. We spoke about the past too. What we remember, what we forgot. We both have that all good, all bad feeling and it’s like the two fit but then also don’t fit at all.

Tomorrow I got a porn style shoot planned. Or had. I cannot bring myself to do that now. Saying that I cannot do it is so difficult for me because there’s put work in preparing everything. It makes me really uncomfortable. Feel like I hear my dad screaming at me making me feel guilty and worthless. Being a product of his own upbringing, I know that. “You have to take responsibility, be on time, keep your promisses, go to appointments.”

I think I was 11, my sister was 13, when she still got spanked. Over his lap. It’s not so much the pain, it’s just so extremely humiliating. Now I look at my ‘little brother’ who is 13 and doesn’t look like a little boy anymore at all. He’s taller than me. We can have conversations, he’s funny and smart enough.

The last time I got hit in the face was when I was 15 or 16. It was pretty serious, his frustration and the intensity. I was in puberty, very deeply actually and didn’t use my mobile phone. Didn’t responde to him at all. Maybe it was because our family was fucked up and he and I both had been depressed for years.

I don’t know why this blog post goes here and I’ve got to stop it now.

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