Sleeping with the beetles
My first comic here is about my past!
Our house had gotten super filthy after my father left. No-one took the dog out so there was dog shit and piss everywhere and piles of newspapers covering them. And new layers of piss and shit. And another layer of newspapers. But that's a story and comic for another time.
You couldn't see the floor in our rooms. It was like a hoarder's house. My room was full of dirty clothes, toys, food, dishes, trash and books. I slept on the "floor" because beetles kept falling from the ceiling into my bed. And then I kind of got used to sleeping on the floor. My room was full of beetles and their larvae. Hundreds of them. You could see them everywhere. Crawling over my clothes, chewing holes into them. In my toys. Between the pages of my schoolbooks. In my hair.
I slept in the middle of them. I got used to having beetles and larvae all over and around me. In some twisted way they kind of became my friends. I wished then good night every time I went to sleep.
My mother did not care about this at all. She just online dated men while I was quietly suffering. She never cared about my well being. I call that neglect.
Our house had gotten super filthy after my father left. No-one took the dog out so there was dog shit and piss everywhere and piles of newspapers covering them. And new layers of piss and shit. And another layer of newspapers. But that's a story and comic for another time.
You couldn't see the floor in our rooms. It was like a hoarder's house. My room was full of dirty clothes, toys, food, dishes, trash and books. I slept on the "floor" because beetles kept falling from the ceiling into my bed. And then I kind of got used to sleeping on the floor. My room was full of beetles and their larvae. Hundreds of them. You could see them everywhere. Crawling over my clothes, chewing holes into them. In my toys. Between the pages of my schoolbooks. In my hair.
I slept in the middle of them. I got used to having beetles and larvae all over and around me. In some twisted way they kind of became my friends. I wished then good night every time I went to sleep.
My mother did not care about this at all. She just online dated men while I was quietly suffering. She never cared about my well being. I call that neglect.
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