Ah siblings....

Ah, spending time with my siblings, the only two other people who understand what a fucked up upbringing we have and why our buttons are where they are.

Going through photos, and the ones from Tunis make me feel slightly nauseous. If they'd just left me alone, I'd have been ok, but they couldn't, they had to hurt, and dig at me, and mock etc.

And I look at the photos of me, taken at a time when my aunts (my dad's sisters, nasty nasty people) told me I was so fat I was never going to get married, though only wear black loose clothing, and certainly never jeans (which like most teens, I wanted to wear), and I see a normal sized girl, not particularly thin, but absolutely not fat, hunched over and trying to take as little room as possible in the world already.