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Hiya! My names Amanda but I'm also just as cool with being called Amura (Ah-More-Ah)
I am an artist that's been drawing for over a decade. I originate from Canada, British Columbia but now live in Austria.
Put simply I have quite the history. I am quite mentally ill, but I don't let that stop me from doing what i can for people.
You're here on this hidden page because you wanted to know a little more.
I came from a very wealthy family. I was the third daughter but there is such an age gap between me and my half sisters that I grew essentially as an only child. Them both having a good 20 years between me and them. My mother became severely mentally ill after her dreams of a "Doll Daughter" were dashed from her. She desperately wanted me to be her little princess, but one day as a child I had enough. After trying to tell her again and again I had no interest in dresses or my hair or anything, I grew to despise her. She wouldn't listen to me, she didn't care about my own likes/dislikes. One day, I told her I hated her....
She started to drink, and mix methamphetamines and antidepressants. Quickly making her mentally unstable. She would have mental episodes, sometimes screaming, sometimes bludgeoning herself into the counter laughing, with wineglass still in hand. About 4 times a week the house was a minefield, a danger. I was never physically attacked but I was threatened constantly. Footsteps became something to fear, my desires for her to leave me alone worsened by the day. She'd gaslight, tell me I was ungrateful, that I was the one being unreasonable. She'd make bizzarre demands, when she was high/derranged it made even less sense.
This wasn't just drunk or high, this was a dangerous brain melting mix that was making her act... inhuman. Whatever mix it was causing, I'd never seen anyone act like it since.
As a child I had no idea this was abuse. I thought I was the problem. My parents fought all the time. I thought as early as 7 years old it was my responsibility to council them. To be the middle man of their arguments. I wasn't focused on being a child. It was just fights, confusion and constant self doubt of my feelings. As a child I knew she wasn't well, and she scared me. I couldn't understand her, she didn't make any sense. I lived in my room alone most of the time. My parents loved me but physical affection and attention was next to null. When I was younger I used to beg a lot more to go out of the house, enjoy a park. Sometimes I would go to a putting range with my father but outside of that. It was always ALWAYS
I was given lavish gifts, had my own bedroom and bathroom, nearly got everything I'd ever asked for. But... not what I actually needed.
My father loves me dearly, but he didn't have the best way to show it. I thought he hated me. Only to realize the sacrafices he made for me. He could have gone through divorce. After an incident, the two lost their dream cars, their dream custom built home. He lost so much. He decided that, it was better to have both parents in my life than to risk failing a custody battle. He did everything he could to make my life with my mom tolerable. He tried to get us both help and spoiled me with items to try and keep my spirits up.
At this same time, around 12-15 years old. I was heavily overdosed off of Dexedrine, an ADHD medication by a doctor. It's honestly just medical cocaine. A child should have no more than 15mg at most. This bastard prescribed me 75mg and at one point 90mg. This is honestly enough to send an adult into cardiac failure. I was severely underweight, anorexic. I refused to eat and stayed up till 5 am nightly. No one knew what was wrong with me. I was being force fed protein drinks out of refusal to eat. I was tweaking, like a drug addict. At 12 years old. My parents had no idea the medication was the cause, they loved me, they just didn't know.
All of this made me go Madd. I grew voices (Multi-personality Disorder), many of them. All coping mechanisms from being deprived. Heres one of them. They all love me, and still do. Only ever wanting the best for me. And they are with me to this day. At my worst, I was talking to thin air, I started to warp reality to the point I was clinically insane. But no therapist would take me seriously. They thought it was for attention, so I was alone with my voices. No one knew truly how bad it was outside of one friend I had. Alex...(edited)
I grew very used to being alone for weeks, hell months. My only company my voices, and my Family Nest (Server Mods) Never leaving the house, in near complete isolation aside from the once or twice a month I'd leave the house with my father for groceries and such.
Eventually after a few incidents. Mainly...
- Coming to school with rats nests from failure to take care of myself.
- Excessive under eating to the point teachers were trying to bargain me into eating even a peice of ham.
- Gaining lice 3 times, the third time upsetting the school
- Me mentioning animal abuse (Neglect) in the house
- Complaints of her forcing me into a chair, while I cried and cried, while she brushed my hair with a brush and took care of my hair, that was down to my hips.
I was sent to childrens hospital to get the drugs out of my system. My sister lied to me, claiming she was going to fight custody to get me. Mind you she's an untreated narcissistic personality mixed with Pathological lying. So she told me various lies about my dad, including sexual assault and trying to get custody of me.
After the hospital I eventually moved away from the city with them, where things were slightly better. Eventually I met my husband markus online.
Where he eventually straight up rescued me, and whisked me to Austria. Where I finally got a taste of normalcy.
I forgive them both.. My father did what he could. And my mother.. just wasn't stable, she couldn't help it. She clearly needed help decades before I came around. I know in my heart, despite everything they love me, and I love them. Just maybe, if I visit them we are getting our own place to stay...
And well... that's my story...
I still have the voices till this day. And honestly I wouldn't prefer it any other way.
And not to be HELLA corny. But after like 25 years I got I guess the human equivalent of a cutie mark. A realization of what I wanted to do.
An aching desire to make anyone elses suffering even a nanosecond shorter. Anyone that gives me the time of day, I'm hellbent on making the day any better. I was blessed with the chance to heal, a loving husband, proper counselling. And I know not everyone gets this..