Freaks

Blake

My mother had always told me, no matter what happens, I should always be myself.

Even if 'being myself' means me, looking like a monster.

Yes. A monster.

You see, I have a disease called "mandibulofacial dysostosis" more commonly known as Treacher Collins syndrome, and a cleft palate.

That one story about the eleven year old boy named August Pullman? I have what he has.

I hate my appearance. I hate my ears, my mouth, my eyes, my nose, and the way I breathe.

Due to my nose being so fucked up, I have to breathe through my mouth, and when I do, I think that I sound like Darth Vader when he breathes heavily in his mask.

Yeah, I know it's really detailed, but if I didn't tell you how I think that I sound when I breathe, you probably couldn't imagine it. (Congrats if you can.)

I have a younger sister named Casey, and an older brother named Nate. Casey is fourteen, I'm fifteen, and Nate is seventeen.

I'm homeschooled, I live with my dad because my 'shit piece of a mom' (So dad says) left us a few days after Casey was born.

Dad tells me that when I was born, he didn't think that I was a monster, He thought I was beautiful and perfect the way I am. He calls me his 'angel in disguise.'

I actually have this little box underneath my bed called the "sadness box" it's for whenever I get upset, or distressed. The box is full of razors, and pocket knives, and pills.

I do self harm. Partially because I look like a monster.

Partially because I'm a misunderstood girl who doesn't have her mother.

And partially because of the teasing.

Online, In public, doesn't matter. Everywhere I go, I am teased. And of I'm not, people give me dirty looks, people gasp, they sneak quick glances at me when they think I don't notice ( But I really do), Kids point at me and laugh, or they ask their parents what's wrong with me.

I remember being five or six, and sitting on the playground down the street. A little girl about my age had come up to me and told me Halloween was a long time ago.

I told her that I knew, and that it was my face.

She didn't understand at that time, of course, neither did I.

But still, It hurts.

So, so much.

Time for the sadness box...