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Description
The child inside me who is surprised by sudden memories. Dragged and drown on the vortex of suffering and fear, rage and inability to understand, loneliness and despair.

I wonder whether is it the best for me or not to share what I am writing, but I am not afraid anymore of anyone knowing my past. I hope this explanation helps to understand better the drawing. I could have kept it to myself, but I hate talking alone.

I am a victim of child pornography, concretely voyeurism one. The man who called himself father put a camera to spy on me in the bathroom, and then shared the content. There were other victims too. I could say I was "lucky" to never have anyone physically abusing me, but what I suffered is certainly an abuse, and the act, mixed with the betrayal of the one who was meant to love and protect me and the abandonment after he was sent to prison and I was left alone (cause I have no mother), dig in my psique a deep, powerful trauma. I do my best to bear with it along to the rest of my life's issues, and I kind of succeed at it, but it is always there, waiting for a photograph, a place, a face, a word, a song, anything to remember me about the past and what happened. And then I feel weak, tiny, exposed, sometimes overwhelmed. My chest fills empty, and full of pain and vomit at the same time. I want to rip my heart out, or my brain, whatever it takes to stop feeling this way. Sometimes I manage to put some of my feelings into a canvas and that somehow makes me feel better, or less worse.

Description
The child inside me who is surprised by sudden memories. Dragged and drown on the vortex of suffering and fear, rage and inability to understand, loneliness and despair.

I wonder whether is it the best for me or not to share what I am writing, but I am not afraid anymore of anyone knowing my past. I hope this explanation helps to understand better the drawing. I could have kept it to myself, but I hate talking alone.

I am a victim of child pornography, concretely voyeurism one. The man who called himself father put a camera to spy on me in the bathroom, and then shared the content. There were other victims too. I could say I was "lucky" to never have anyone physically abusing me, but what I suffered is certainly an abuse, and the act, mixed with the betrayal of the one who was meant to love and protect me and the abandonment after he was sent to prison and I was left alone (cause I have no mother), dig in my psique a deep, powerful trauma. I do my best to bear with it along to the rest of my life's issues, and I kind of succeed at it, but it is always there, waiting for a photograph, a place, a face, a word, a song, anything to remember me about the past and what happened. And then I feel weak, tiny, exposed, sometimes overwhelmed. My chest fills empty, and full of pain and vomit at the same time. I want to rip my heart out, or my brain, whatever it takes to stop feeling this way. Sometimes I manage to put some of my feelings into a canvas and that somehow makes me feel better, or less worse.