Shadows of difference: 4. Dehumanized
This is my story, laid bare in Dehumanized. The figure you see, broken and fragmented, is me. It’s not just a physical destruction, but an emotional one—one that happened over years of being shaped, altered, and ultimately shattered by external forces. Each jagged piece of the figure represents how I’ve been slowly torn apart, not by my own doing, but by the world around me—by the expectations, judgments, and constant reminders that I wasn’t enough. These forces didn’t just change me—they made me ill, pushing me further into a state of weakness and confusion, until the last shred of the human I used to be was torn away.
• They tell you you're broken, a convenient label that absolves them of all responsibility. They don't see the jagged edges of the cracks they themselves inflicted, the deep, ragged cuts they carelessly left behind, wounds that refuse to heal. And the shame… they fed you that like a slow-acting poison, seeping into the marrow of your soul, corroding your sense of self.
• They point accusing fingers, dictating who you should be, a perfect image sculpted to their liking. Then, when the pressure becomes unbearable, when you inevitably shatter under the weight of their expectations, they avert their gaze, feigning innocence. They don't see the blood that stains your trembling hands, the silent torrent of tears that stream down your face, the desperate, agonizing fight you wage just to hold onto the last vestiges of your humanity.
• They simply watch, detached and indifferent, as you stumble and fall, their laughter a cruel echo in the desolate landscape of your despair. They relish the mess you become, a grotesque validation of their initial judgment, never acknowledging their own pivotal role in your destruction. They see the broken pieces, but they refuse to see the hand that wielded the hammer.
Growing up, I was told who I should be, what I should look like, how I should act. I was constantly forced into molds that didn’t fit. The world shaped me with its standards, telling me I wasn’t worthy if I didn’t conform. These external forces, these societal expectations, pushed me further and further away from who I was meant to be. They forced me into silence, into hiding my true self, until I became nothing more than fragments—pieces of me scattered in a world that refused to understand.
And then came the shame. The shame that others projected onto me—the shame of not being good enough, the shame of being different, the shame of not fitting into their narrow view of what was acceptable. It’s a kind of dehumanizing shame that seeps into your bones, that makes you question your worth and your place in the world. But I did more than most. I never got help in school, and teachers didn’t listen to my family. I had to do everything by myself, because there was nothing there to help me. I’ve always been alone in this world, and it wasn’t fear that kept me isolated—it was the reality of having to carry my struggles alone. The brokenness in the figure is not just my internal feeling; it’s the external judgment, the cruelty, and the shame I’ve had to live with. Fuck this fairy tale country.
The dark space around me represents the isolation, the emptiness left behind when external forces not only changed me but stripped away my humanity. The harsh lines and shadows reflect how those forces—society’s rejection, the fear of being different, the weight of others' expectations—can break a person down, leaving them lost and alienated. And now they knew it was in the genes. Why bother helping me anymore? This was what made me. Years of being told I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t fit in, and now, finally, the world had proof: I was mental. Yeah, gotta love this world—they love you until they can prove you’re broken, until they can prove there’s something wrong with you.
But this is also my fight. Even though I’ve been shattered by those external forces, I continue to search for pieces of myself. I continue to rebuild, even as the world tries to erase who I am. Dehumanized is my reminder that while others may try to break me, I am still here, still whole—despite the forces that sought to destroy me.
This is my journey. This is the story of how the world tried to change me, tried to shame me, but in the end, I am still me, pieced together, fighting to reclaim my identity and my worth.
