My Wilting Womb

Today was my first day of therapy for the week... much needed it was, a haven of sanity and understandings. I mentioned to him, that today would mark Day 50 of my photo project... he expressed approval and said I should feel proud of myself for continuing thus far. Of course, pride is something foreign and prohibited by the Choir... I wouldn't even begin to understand the elements of such an emotion. Nonetheless, for those that are new here, here is a link to my ongoing photo project, Project: Humanity... please do not feel pressured to witness this spectacle, I only mention it if anyone is interested. Over the course of this undertaking, I've yet to experience much healing, if any... I still hate looking at myself, seeing the worthlessness and disgust seep from my face. I realize healing takes time, so I'm trying very hard to continue this experiment. As an added benefit, no one has left an upsetting comments about how putrid and ugly I am or any references to my deteriorating hygiene, or lack there of, as it were. Every time I see myself in those pictures, I'm reminded of my mother's disgust and hurtful words spewing their venomous assault on my fragile mind... how my body would become the playground of the adults that should have protected me. I suppose even hideous people in appearance are still targets of sexual abuse... I suppose we are looked upon as less valuable as it is, so what is a little more trauma in the grand scheme of things. We spent a good amount of time talking about my mother today in therapy... how she calls me every weekend as my role is to uplift and validate her as an upstanding person and prized parent... the blue ribbon beauty, at the feasting table of innocence. I told my therapist that it's very upsetting to constantly be put in this role, as well as the role of a father to her... it's a continual mind-fuck that cripples me from the needed acknowledge and her lack of responsibility. I'm always telling her, "Yes, you were a wonderful Mother and you never did anything to hurt us... ever! You only protected us with absolute love and acceptance.". Like for example, my brother upset her recently for talking about how she'd spew forth obscenities at us and throw dishes and anything else she could hurl across the room in pure ire. I had to tell her that my brother was wrong, and she did no such things... although, I remember those moments quite well. It's sickening, but what other choice do I have? I love my mother and I forgive her, so feel like I need to protect her fragile world of denial. Nothing good could possibly come from condemning her and lashing out, so what's the point? I don't have a relationship to speak of with my brother or sister, so I doubt they care what I have to say on the matter... my brother has disowned both parents and my sister is rotting from her hatred of her sexual abuse she inflicted and endured. Besides, what right do I have to judge anyone... I've done my fair share of robbing innocence and hurting and abusing people in my life... whether the attacks were of a physical, spiritual, or mental nature. Fuck. I fucking hate myself... everything about me is distasteful. I wish, now more than ever, that I could lose myself in a swell of tears... to be washed away in a tide of blood, as the glass protrudes from my ribboned flesh.