i had planned to write a fashion post. i had planned to have a fun moment. i had planned to be spontaneous and deliberate and kind to myself.
and then i saw this picture.
my dad took this picture of me with the family polaroid camera. i loved that camera; the way the button click was so obviously mechanical, the whirr it made as it slowly processed each picture. i loved that camera to death. i used it so much the button broke, and the whirr refused to spit out the film, and i was beaten for destroying such a precious object.
my dad took this picture of me. "hold your hair back," he said, "let me see your ears."
i proudly did so, already a ballerina, already a gymnast, my young joints and muscles loose and full of endorphins.
my mind, right now, is full of panic. i am chewing my lips as i write. i've always thought this is a nice picture. i've always liked how pretty i look.
and now, having seen it in a fresh light, i hate it. i hate it, i hate it.
my father was a predator. he posed me for this picture like a doll. he posed me, and he smiled, and he pretended it was an innocent act, and he made me think it was a good memory, and a good picture, and now all i can do is stare at it in horror, is mentally clutch it to my chest and cry, is scream. and scream. and scream.
stop doing this to us. let us be children. let us grow and claim our futures in innocence. let us be children again.
