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Pyro's plastic model kit of the Dimetrodon, an early carniverous reptile. This is one of the poorest Pyro dinosaurs and as a model it does not fit very well either.
New livery for existing bus.
3D GRAPHIC BY- ADITYA RANE, MUMBAI.
CONTACT- adityarane02@gmail.com
+919768298050
So this is my very first attempt at high dynamic range on a portrait model... or any image for that matter. This is the end result after a few tweeks and wash out layers.
I think the HDR enhancement really makes the image pop and gives it more of an 'artsy' look overall.
Thoughts, comments, suggestions ?
My new girl, a Nu Face Perk Colette. I was going to re-root her but I'm in love with her as is. She's just stunning, and was my favourite FR girl before I got her, and remains so, if not even more enjoyable now.
She's going to be either Native American (I'm not sure where in America but bleh) or maybe even Hawaiian/Japanese. Not sure. Feel free to suggest names, you guys have lots of practice of naming girl dolls, I totally don't XD
Ok so it all started when I was born - literally. My parents were young when they had me, just 19 years old. My grandparents got guardianship of my brother and I when I was about three years old. My family has a history of mental illness on both sides, so I was "doomed" naturally. Schizophrenia, bipolar, manic depression, all disorders someone in my family was diagnosed with. My maternal grandmother is manic depressive, and things were very difficult growing up because it wasn't addressed. She didn't believe in therapy and thought that nothing was wrong. Therapy was only for "messed up" people, and she had an extreme stigma about it. There are so many instances of verbal and emotional abuse towards my grandfather, my brother, my mother, and myself. But if you spoke up, it was even worse, you wouldn't dare speak up against it. It was always better to endure it and hope the next day would be better. She was, and still can be, very unpredictable. You'd think everything was dandy, until it wasn't. Things could switch in a moment into a screaming, "you-don't-care-about-me-how-come-no-one-cares-for-me" mess. I never wanted someone to ever go through that, or to feel like they couldn't speak up. I was often the one to speak up, so my grandmother and I would fight often. Hence, the anxiety, people-pleasing, wanting to always keep the peace mindset that I have as an adult. She's always needed help for her mental health, but you can't make someone do something they don't want. If they won't address what's hurting, things can't progress.
My grandfather, my grandmother, my brother, and I tried going to group therapy once. It didn't go well, and was entirely unproductive in creating any change. The time was spent with my grandmother asking why she was always the bad guy and how no one ever talked about how they hurt her, and essentially made for a bad time for awhile at home. I did go to counseling in school for awhile, but it was in a group setting so it wasn't as exclusive as going to one-on-one therapy. As a teenager, I did got to therapy for a little bit, but I stopped going because my therapists kept leaving for other practices. And I felt like I was "fine". Plus, what good does it do when you live somewhere that's always stressful and you feel like you can't really talk about your feelings anyways? I didn't want that for my life, ever. I knew that I wanted to be different. I was always sad as a kid that I didn't live with my parents. I never had an answer when people asked me why I didn't live with them, honestly I still am not sure completely why I didn't and I'll be 29 this year .
My mother ended up having a drug addiction problem when I was in sixth grade. My mother is also bipolar, although I don't know exactly when this was discovered. My grandmother hated my dad, for whatever reason. So I just had no pull in my desire to want to live with a parent. My mother had always been around, and she lived with us and my grandparents at times. I saw my dad on the weekends and holidays. In the beginning of her addiction, my grandparents got emergency custody of my brother Jacob. So now they were raising three kids. When my mother made the decision to get clean from heroin, I was about 11 (I think, not sure of my exact age). I loved her so much, and I'll always remember driving down the road with her one day as she was crying and saying "I love you, you know I do, right?" I was the one sitting with her in the bathroom while she went through withdrawal. It was hard to see my mother so sick. I stayed by her side and slept in the same room as her at night because I was so happy she was back home. I also went to NA and AA meetings with her. I liked the cookies and snacks they'd have. I really had no business being around so much adult information at my age, but as I see it I was the support in my mother's recovery, because everyone else was just mad at her. Naturally, it makes sense that as an adult my mother uses me as support often. She's better now and has been clean for over 10 years.
Eventually, I did get the chance to live with my father and my step-mom the summer before seventh grade. For whatever reason, my grandmother had a moment and agreed to let me live with them. I was ecstatic! I remember hopping onto the computer and instant messaging my step-mom on AIM. I lived with them from the beginning of seventh grade to halfway through my freshman year of high school. Living there was such a change from what I was used to; more routine and structure, more "normalcy". I moved back in with my grandparents halfway through my freshman year of high school. Around that time is when my father was really starting to struggle with his mental health (that I know of). There was one night I remember he got so angry that my step-mom and I went in the basement with our dog. He'd torn off the keyboard holder from the computer desk, ripped the sliding door off the track, and threw the board into the pool. He wasn't going to hurt us and I think we knew that, but he was just SO aggressively upset. I remember he left and that night I woke up to the sound of him crying in the bathroom pleading to God. He got diagnosed bipolar around that time. I didn't leave because he was struggling, but because I felt like me being there was too stressful and I missed being with my grandparents. Things were still the same when I moved back in, it's like I never left. I think part of me is always going to feel guilty for leaving my brothers there, even though getting out made such a change in me.
I met a junior boy, C is what we will call him, when I moved back. He was my second boyfriend. I'd only dated one person when I lived in Leominster, and it wasn't for long. I didn't really know much about dating, or sex, or how any of it worked really. I feel like I just figured out a lot of it on my own, leading to many poor decisions. Part of the issue is that my grandmother believed that any talk of sex, birth control, or even asking to be on birth control would automatically lead to pregnancy. And most of what I saw growing up was not-so-healthy relationships. C broke up with me shortly after I made the decision to have sex with him, through a note, passing me in the hallway to lunch. One of my first poor decisions, and it got worse because my grandmother found out about it and threatened to bring him to court for statutory rape. For whatever reason I thought that having sex with someone meant love. I don't know where I came up with that, but it was what I thought mattered. And I also couldn't stand to be alone, I somehow put all my worth in being with someone else.
A few boyfriends later, I met P at a little music release basement party for a mutual friend. We were a hit instantly, and I completely ignored all of my friends when they told me the next morning to not get involved with him. Another poor decision. We became boyfriend and girlfriend. I was with him for 3 years almost. We smoked a lot of pot, he skipped a lot of college, he would call out of work to stay with me. My grandmother would call me out sick from school so I could spend a week with him at his dorm in Boston. He practically lived at my grandparent's house with me at one point. It was very toxic. We were very clingy to one another and I had no freedom. I couldn't even really hang out with my friends if he wasn't there too. He didn't like when I colored my hair without asking. One time, I dyed it black without asking and he screamed at me for a good hour through the phone. My friend that was with me had to answer the phone at one point and tell him to stop calling. All my worth and who I was was determined by him. I wanted to stretch my ears but didn't because he got upset and told me that I only wanted to do that so I could fuck his friends. He was extremely emotionally and verbally abusive, narcissistic if you will. And he needed help with mental health, yet another non-believer of therapy in my life, and meds would just make you a zombie so forget that.
When I got to college, P had failed out of New England Institute of Art and ended up at The Mount with me. This was problematic. We had a lot of the same classes and friends. I ended up getting very close to another guy, A, who showed interest in me being who I wanted. I remember being told by A that I was being treated like property. I wasn't happy with P anymore, but I didn't know how to leave. I ended up cheating, which is absolutely against my morals. P found out because A was angry I wouldn't leave P and told him everything. It was a nasty breakup and there was a lot of fighting. We had all the same friends and so there was some division and tension. I failed out of college because I skipped classes so I wouldn't have to see him. But even after the breakup, P found a way to always be involved in my business.
While I was dating P, I stopped talking to my father for about a year. My father was trying to look out for me in a particular circumstance and went to P's house on his lunch one day to talk with him. I was a dumb teenager so I chose my boyfriend over my father. During that year my father tried to commit suicide. I only found out because of someone anonymous on the internet. My father did not succeed and is much better these days.
After P, I had a lot of small relationships. I was trying to find myself and who I wanted to be. I stretched my ears. I went to a lot of shows, and I did get to live with my mother by the way, when I turned 18. Things were hard and she didn't exactly like who I was. A lot of criticism for my boyfriends, who I dated, who my friends were. Because I was already an adult, her trying to parent me didn't exactly mesh. I smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. I was very stressed all the time. I lost my best friend after P, but I also was so caught up in myself I didn't see how awful of a friend I was. She even ended up dating P for a few years, and that was very hard for me. I never took accountability. I was an anxious mess, that couldn't just be by herself. A lot of my relationships felt like I was a "light" for the other person who was looking to fill a void or get over someone else. And even knowing that so many times, I'd just stay sometimes because I was "needed".
Eventually, I would meet my now husband Joe a year (roughly) after P. Joe and I were best friends first. We knew each other first, and hung out as friends first. He would drive from Dracut to Athol almost every day, that's like 2 hours just to get to me, then 2 hours home. We would sit in my room and watch Friend Zone on MTV (how fitting, right?) One day we found ourselves just casually holding hands. This was new for me. I didn't see it coming. Our relationship crept up and blossomed instead of my usual just jumping into a relationship. Joe was the only one to ever stand up to P and tell him he didn't have a place in my life anymore. The only person where I never doubted if I was just filling a void from someone else. Joe cared about my interests and what I enjoyed, and has continued to throughout our 9 year relationship. He showed me what being valued as myself was like. This is love. And I am grateful, because he gives me space to figure out who I am and change if I feel like it.
The lesson from this is that I finally learned that I was enough as me. I didn't have to try to be anyone's ex, I didn't have to try to be anyone but myself. I learned that I had value as a person, and that I could be who I wanted, because I WANTED to be that person. I could be a light in someone's life, without putting out my own light. I learned that my body was not the only thing someone should want in a relationship, and that sex does not mean love. And most importantly, I learned that I didn't need to fill a void in someone, or try to have someone to fill a void in myself. Things don't work that way. You cannot fix a person, you can only be there for them. As far as mental health goes, my intention was always to break the cycle and take care of myself. I knew it from very early in my life. I mentioned that I stopped going to therapy for awhile. Two years ago I did start going to counseling again. After having our second child, I realized that I was really struggling and things were getting hard, I felt like I was falling apart inside. I couldn't cope strictly by myself. Last year I was diagnosed as bipolar 2. My counselor knew a bit sooner than when he told me, but I respect his reasoning. When he diagnosed me, he said that he did not tell me right away when he knew, because he knew that I would have been devastated, since he knew I did not want to be like my family. But I am not like my family. I love my family, and they are not bad people, they just needed help. I am the change in the cycle. I wanted better and I am creating better. I want my children to know stability and that mental health is as important as physical health. I am still working at being better every day, I will always have to, that's okay. I am open, I am accepting of myself, I know healing isn't linear. In healing, I have learned forgiveness.