"Something's Wrong With My Family Photos" by donavin221 | CLANCYPASTA

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[00:00:39] Ich würde mich überlegen, dass ich ein gutes Zeug von mir und meine zwei Sistens habe. Sie revels in der Freude zu wissen, dass sie die Momente einfach haben, und in etwas sie kann, für die Liebe an der Familie verrunden. Es war einfach ein Leben, oder in der Familie zu verschwenden, was es eigentlich eine Family-vacation-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie-femilie. Und. Hours.

[00:01:05] I tried to stay happy about it, happy to give my mom the memories she so desperately wanted to archive. But eventually, the smiles became forced. I would grit my teeth every time she pulled her phone out of her pocket, asking us to stand together. It became harder and harder not to clench my fists to the point that bruises were left on my palm any time I knew a moment was being captured.

[00:01:35] Eventually, I started begging her to just please, please put the phone away and let us live freely, without fear of any bad angles or embarrassing faces. She'd pout and she'd whine how she just wants something that would last her forever, and that she wants us to share that want with her.

[00:01:58] Every time, I'd clench my fist and grit my teeth, then pose for the next photo. My house became filled with family portraits, my sisters and I smiling wide and creating the image of a happy family. Nearly every square inch of the walls were covered with pictures of my face staring back at me, my parents and sisters staring at me.

[00:02:27] It drove me to the brink of madness, and my mom simply would not let up, taking pictures down and replacing them nearly every week. I've seen myself grow on these walls, watching as I grew from elementary all the way to high school, my gritting face never faltering. Time went on, and I began to resent my mom.

[00:02:54] Resent always being placed in her own personal spotlight for her Facebook friends and work colleagues. My own friends in school would pick me apart, finding the worst possible photo they could, and absolutely demolishing my confidence with it. I stopped talking to people. I stopped leaving my room. I wouldn't even partake in the family vacations anymore.

[00:03:21] I could not bring myself to become subject to the mental agony that was the flashing light of a camera. Not a second more. My mother grew heartbroken as I remained firm on my stance that no longer would I be her personal art piece. Can you please just come take a picture with me? She'd ask me, to which I'd reply with a stern and aggressive, Nope.

[00:03:53] A few months went by, and I stood my ground. Eventually, she stopped asking altogether, and I finally felt the inner peace that I had been so desperately striving for. The family portraits remained, though, always staring at me, constantly reminding me of my mom's obsession.

[00:04:19] Seeing myself on such a display made my resentment burn even hotter, and my malice grew each time I walked past one of those stupid fucking pictures. Morning after morning, my smiling face would torment me, taunt me as I walked by. Maddened with rage, I started pulling pictures off the wall and hiding them,

[00:04:48] storing them in a place only I'd know to find them. But every morning, they'd return right back to their place on the wall. Pretty soon, I began destroying the portraits, shattering the frame on the floor and ripping the glossy paper inside to shreds. Yet, there they were. Every morning,

[00:05:15] felt like I was losing my mind. In one week, during one of my family's vacations without me, I took every picture off the wall, all 246 of them, and I burned them in our fireplace. Watching as the wooden frames turned to ash, and the glass covers blackened with soot, the next morning, I came out of my bedroom

[00:05:44] to find that every single photo was back on the wall. My parents and sisters smiling gleefully as ever. I, on the other hand, had been changed. The natural-looking smile that had been pasted on my face in every photo was now a grimace of hatred. My eyes burned with raging fury,

[00:06:12] and I could see blood dripping from both of my hands while my clenched fist dangled to my side. I had been changed in every photo, each one bearing a new image of absolute fiery resentment. My family came home, and no one said a thing about it. No one seems to notice the demon

[00:06:42] that replaced the eldest son of the family in each of my mother's oh-so-cherished photos. It's been weeks now, and still no one seems to give it any kind of acknowledgement. Never mind the pictures, no one seems to even give me any kind of acknowledgement. My mom has stopped talking to me altogether,

[00:07:07] and my sisters seem not to even know I exist. The only one who seems to notice me is my dad, who will occasionally shoot me worried-looking glances from over his newspaper. I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into here, but please, mom, if you're reading this, please

[00:07:37] come take a picture with me. . . . . . . . .