Project Humanity Update

Yesterday marked the 100th day of my photo project... I know, I know, everyone is so excited about viewing 100 fucking photos of this pathetic retch of a creature. On the plus side, I'm not posting any of those photos here, so you are free to just read my mindless chatter for the moment. Thank God for small miracles, right?

Seeing how 100 is a perfectly round number and a modest accomplishment, I was faced with a decision to either continue or end the project. I never stated how long this would continue, but rather purely focused on the healing part of this journey. Sadly, the healing never came... or at least nothing monumental. I still think I'm hideous, disgusting, and extremely overweight and pathetic... thank you, Mother. Of course that's not to say other unexpected paths were discovered and some truly inspiring and wonderful events have been uncovered... vague, always so fucking vague! It's really not a mystery, my friends. If you've read along and followed the project... I would say things are quite clear. So after much debate and a few conversations with some of you, someone else, and my therapist, I decided to continue doing the project. I'm still not putting a date or number on it, but rather just taking it day by day. Perhaps if I focus less on the actual miraculous healing I desire to discover and just continue traveling this path... then maybe, just maybe, the wounds can begin to heal in their own time. For those of you that would like to witness this spectacle first hand, I will add a link to the fiasco at the end of this post.

Before I go... I would like to take a moment to thank all of you for your support, encouragement, comments, devotion, and inspiration. Knowing that I'm not alone has made this journey so much easier to stomach. Be well and with peace... more madness will follow shortly.

Project Humanity

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.

Fevered Fetus

I've been giving some serious thought about altering my photo project... not abandoning it, just expanding the general theme. For those of you that are new, if you would like to follow along or view my photos... they can be found here - Project: Humanity. You see, the whole purpose is that by taking and posting photos of myself, perhaps it will allow me to gain some minute piece of self-worth... in addition to making it less offensive to see myself in the mirror.  What I've been considering is to perhaps take some full body photos and photos of specific parts of my body that I hate or find less offensive... something along the lines of my severed penis on fine china served to a host of stuffed animals. Well, it's a thought... somehow it would be poetic and fitting. I never promised myself, or anyone for that matter, that this project would be inspiring, creative, or artistic... it's purely for a therapeutic purpose. However, perhaps the few people viewing my photos day after day would like to see something other than my hideous face... let's display the entire piece of shit, rather than one kernel of corn. Insert laughter and elegant flourish. At the very least, it would make it a slightly more intimate journey of growth and self-discovery... exposing myself further as the sweaty toothed, deviant fiend. As always, your input would be appreciated... please share your thoughts and opinions, freely.

"I wish to give, to take, to make, to shake,
 I wanna see it happen.
 I want to see, to be, the one that plays the game,
 Without no fears and regrets.
 I want to know you,
 Better than I know myself.
 I want to feel the end,
 And to enjoy the consequence."

- I Wish, Infected Mushroom

Photographs, Tea, And Me

Here we are again... another month has passed and I feel the same. The medication hasn't really helped all that much and the difficulty in following through with this project hasn't lessened either. Although, today will be my 31st day of taking and posting hideous pictures of my gaping maw. It's hard to see this project and follow-through as an accomplishment... yes I've been diligent, but I still hate looking at myself. All I see are flaws and how disgusting and revolting I must appear to people... fat, ugly, worthless. I imagine most people are wondering why I'm only taking pictures of myself instead of other people or objects... they must think I'm incredibly vain. "Oh wow! I'm so fucking handsome! I must take more and more pictures of myself... I just can't get enough!". Truth be told, I'm surprised my lens hasn't shattered due to the constant exposure of my despicable features. I suppose in that regard, this project has been a complete failure... I hate myself just as much as before and I can't seem to find one likable piece of flesh. Someone should just kill me and put us all out of our misery... then picture wouldn't have to look upon this mess.

There has been a slight amount of success in contacting strangers to be friends... recently, two people agreed to take a chance on me. Something is missing though... it seems empty in a lot of ways. Perhaps it's just a matter of time and adjustment. At least someone took an interest and I wasn't rejected as usual... there is something positive in that I suppose. Every time I try this experiment, it seems as if the communication and writing happens only because I initiate it... if I never write to them, then there would be no contact at all. Is it an unreasonable request that I find someone that writes me because they want to, rather than just replying? Perhaps it's just a matter of perspective? Maybe it's just an inner reflection of the emptiness and lack of self-worth. It makes me feel even more pathetic... wishing someone would show eagerness and interest in getting to know me. "Hey, I was thinking of you today and..."...something like that. I'm so fucking stupid and hopeless... I suppose it wouldn't matter anyway. No matter what someone tried to do, I'd find some way to negate it and infuse myself deeper with paranoia. Fuck...

Just For A Moment

Time has once again passed us by, but this time something positive occurred in it's place... I've successfully posted self-portraits for seven days, in a row. I survived one week of internal humiliation and ridicule... the Choir is viciously delicious in their torments. I haven't received any negative feedback from the community thus far, so that is a plus in my book. It has been humbling, posting myself looking filthy and unbathed, hair in a knotted mess... open and oozing like an open sore for the multitude to prod and poke. Showing myself vulnerable and with raw intimacy... it would have been easy to hide and forget the possibility of growth. Nonetheless, I did it... I started something and stuck to it. That is something to feel good about... for the moment. It's a release from the things lurking within and trying to escape the photographs... for a brief moment in time, I felt like I was worth something. Perhaps not much, but that's not the point... the point is, it was something. It may be hard for someone outside the box to appreciate this feeling... what is seven photos in the grand scheme of things? Imagine viewing yourself out of the picture perfect world... where you soak in the daily accolades and love from those in your plastic lives. Welcome to a place where you've never felt loved from anything or appreciated... not from your mother or father, absolutely nothing. Now in this dark world with only yourself... imagine only seeing yourself as a worthless, hideous, putrid, helpless, pathetic mass. Nothing good will ever come from you, because you are lower than the earth the dogs shit upon... rotting flesh for people to use and toss away at their whim. Now, for a brief moment... you did something. You showed yourself to the world and stood up for yourself proclaiming... "I am here, and I am real.". That moment of truth, that moment of pure humanity... the minute accomplishment of posting seven self-portraits of your fragile, delicate soul. It is something, and I am going to allow myself to feel good about it for a few more minutes before something comes forth to take it from me... for just a moment, I was free. For just one moment, I was real... flesh and blood, just like you.