Alex

Portrait Photographer Auckland

Alex

“I hated school. I had a teacher named Mr Anaru. He didn’t understand me.. why I couldn’t stop moving why I was always “overly excited”.
My mother, my brother and my sister were physically and psychologically abused by my father until we were saved by my “Miru” family and my Apelu family.
Mr Anaru placed me in the corner with no learning material for the majority of my primary school years at Dominion Rd Primary school. No kids wanted to play with me. Not even my brother.
I fucking hated school.
1 father, 1 brother, 1 sister, 1 mom
“YOU WAIT TILL YOU GET HOME BOY!”
My father was sick. He looked me in the eyes and said to me: “You don’t even look like me! Your mom must have fucked your uncle Whipper! Look at you!.” but he would always contradict himself by saying “remember. I made you, I can destroy you!”
I remained still, quiet, and thought ‘why dad?.. Why did you say this?’
1 brother, 1 sister, 1 mom
Tears in my eyes, hands clasped together. My brother laughed at me as I begged god for the beatings to stop. (I haven’t prayed in front of anyone except my friend Sarah since.)
My mom came home and the beatings stopped.
Mom saved me.
I then sat in my room listening to my mom gasping for air as my father strangled her.
1 sister, 1 mother.
My sister laughed at me running away from her when my father gave her his belt to “teach me”.
1 mother.
At age 7, I would run in front of West Auckland traffic in hopes the cars would “save me”
I said to mom: “I feel like I wasn’t supposed to be born.”
She said to me.. “shut up and stop thinking like that.. you don’t ever say that!”
1 mother.
The scars have held power over me until I turned thirty this year.
I’ve burned so many bridges because I chose to ignore my “numbness” and accept my “weaknesses” and my instabilities in this life.. I’ve used people who have loved me. I’ve stolen money out of my moms wallet. I’ve cheated on women and used them for purely nothing but my own pleasure.
At the bottom of my well of darkness..
My mom sat there with me saying:“You don’t give up my boy.”“My boy” was all I needed to hear.
Only once I began to accept that I was weak and sick and unaccepting of others – did I start healing my scars.
Every action is measured by the sentiment from which it proceeds.. Yes. but, we need to acknowledge that an action or thought could be a taught pattern of toxicity… Accept yourself, and you reclaim yourself in complete wholeness.”
– Alexander “Zanda” Adlam

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