Abandonded Photography is What I Do.


I have been giving this blog a lot of thought and I am in a bad place right now and I figured, maybe if I write out my thoughts, I would feel better. So yeah. Let’s write. But before you read this, I don’t want sympathy or sadness, I just want to get my thoughts out and maybe I can help one person.

Going to therapy is extremely hard. It’s been described to me as ripping up the road for construction, with detours and fresh gravel and it takes a long time to be repaved. I feel like I am a bridge that was getting repaved and then disaster struck and I had to collapse and start over.

I have found throughout my life that I have had a lot of abandonment issues and even more trust issues. My parents separated when I was in fifth grade, got back together and then divorced finally when I was nineteen. All you readers of divorced parents can sympathize with me about divorce. It’s horrible and it messes with your head. It affects your relationships with your significant other and even friends. If you are the family where your divorced parents are cordial and can talk without it being awkward, well, hey, good for you. That is not my family.

So since I was young, I had a lot of this abandonment and trust problems. Dad leaves physically and mom checks out mentally. My brother and sister did their own thing and so did I. We all took care of our needs in our own way. We all did what we had to do to survive. I have learned through therapy, there is no blame, it’s just that you have to accept it and work through it. For me it’s still a game of survival- like the freaking Hunger Games; I am still trying to just survive.

I am also going through a lot with people that I thought were my friends (read the blog ‘Losing a Friend’ or ‘Take Your Mom’s Advice’). People that I cared deeply for just left. Just like a poof of smoke they are gone. And you are left there wondering what you did or what you could have done differently to make them stay. All these unanswered questions that will never be answered because life never has closure. And that bothers me… the ‘why?’

So let me explain why I photograph abandoned buildings. I like to find abandoned buildings and take pictures of what used to be. All of these buildings have a history and have a story. You can feel the presence of the people that once walked the halls; the people that prayed for God’s guidance and the military officials that walked the grounds. I don’t just think about these people- I obsess over the history; the history of the people and the building.

My obsession comes from the why and the what if’s and the how could they? These buildings were once so beautiful but one day someone decided that this place wasn’t good enough and just got up and left. Where did the people go? Where is their stuff and why do they leave so much behind? Some many unanswered questions- questions that will never be answered. That really bothers me.

I am that abandoned building. I realized that I am so drawn to this photography because I have been tossed aside by family or friends that just decided that they don’t want me anymore. Don’t feel bad for me, don’t cry or have pity on me… I just want one person to listen.

On the outside, I look strong. I always joke around when I am at work or with friends and family but inside I am that dilapidated building. I am worn down, my paint is chipping and there are plenty of holes through my body. My insides feel like they can’t take another incident. I am in so much pain that my insides burn and I look for ways to find relief but find nothing that helps. I feel weathered and weak and I feel unwanted.

And that’s why I want to photograph everything and anything that is abandoned; it was once loved and beautiful and now it’s dilapidated and falling apart. Those buildings are out there weathering the storm and they continue to stand even though people that said they would be there never really kept their word. That’s me. Barely standing. Barely living. Barely able to take another blow. Therapy is my only choice if I want to see another day. It’s the day of the week I always looked forward to and still do.

One day I hope to feel better but right now it seems impossible but I have a good therapist and a great husband that believes I will get there. My ETA is undetermined; I am just following the detour signs to get back onto the main road like everyone else.

Until next time,

Detour up ahead

Allison Iannone Photogaphy

This is my photography page and all of my work is here. I have taken pictures in an abandoned tuberculosis hospital, an abandoned church and cemetery and an abandoned military site.

I hope you can ‘like’ the page while you visit and I hope you look at my work. If you have any places that are abandoned and you know their location, let me know. I am always looking for something new to photograph; it’s like my own way to give myself therapy.

Thanks for reading.




Adventures with Jesus

It’s Sunday once again and here is the rundown of our church escapades:

1) Emily didn’t want to go to church so I used the acceptable Catholic guilt. ‘Emily, God died for your sins so he wants to see you because you know, he died for you and all.’ And Emily came back with ‘God didn’t die… that was Jesus.’

Well played.

2) Nicholas said he didn’t want to go to church and I tried to explain to him that church can be fun. I said ‘I like singing.’ And Nicholas said ‘I like when we leave.’

3)Vincent wanted to know how Jesus died but when you tell your son that people put nails in his hands and feet, and then he suffocated, it just leads to more questions.

4) Our rule is hands to yourself but Vincent just kept rubbing his head on my arm and purring like a cat.

5) I was praying with my eyes closed and Nicholas tried to look down my shirt. He was successful.

6) Emily thought it would be OK to pick her nose.

7) the boys thought God would want to see them wrestle and body slam each other on the pew.

8) When I pray, I sometimes cry. My kids were scared and when I told them that God was talking to me, they were really alarmed and got defensive…
‘what did he say to you?’

9) My kids told me that God didn’t care if you laid on the pew because he could still see you.

10)Emily saw a picture of Michael the Arc Angel and insisted that it was Batman. Parental fail.

Glad we went to mass. I couldn’t even tell you what the readings were about. Probably because we walked in when the Gospel was being read.

Until next time,

Batman is watching

Let the Questions Begin

Every morning, I get up and enjoy the silence of the house. Every morning I get up and enjoy my alone time- no questions to answers and no stress.

Each morning I love to take a hot shower and feel the droplets of water drip down my face. The smell of the shampoo fills my nostrils. It’s silent and peaceful. The moment is strong in my mind and my mind is free to breathe- to think.

This morning it was silent and then the silence was broken with ‘daddy? Why are you taking a shower with mommy?’


Until next time,

Pass me my towel please

Death of a Pilgrim

Whenever Vincent has a field trip, I am the mom that decorates his brown, bagged lunch to go along with the theme of the trip but yesterday I didn’t have time.

In the car to school, Vincent mentioned that he couldn’t wait to see what I put on his bag. I felt bad and told him I didn’t have time. He was bummed so I asked him what exactly they were doing on this field trip… I know… mom of the year. Vincent is like ‘I think we are learning about pilgrims and stuff.

So at every red light I drew a little more on his little bag. At the end, I had drawn a cartoon pilgrim that said ‘mmmm… corn!’

Then I picked him up later that afternoon.

‘Hey! How was your trip? Did you like your bag?’ -me
‘Yeah… it was so funny except we didn’t learn about pilgrims.’ -Vincent
‘Well, what did you learn about?’ -me
‘Like… black stuff.’ -Vincent
‘Uh…ok, you learned about slavery?’ -me
‘No! Like black things.’ -Vincent
‘A blacksmith?’ -me
‘No! It’s like black and it explodes…’ -Vincent
‘Black powder?’ -me
‘Yeah! We learned about black powder!’ -Vincent

So yeah… I was the mom that drew a pilgrim giving out corn. Seriously, I should have drawn a gun, showing the black powder igniting, while killing the pilgrim. If only I knew.

See you on the flip side and until then,

Have a good Thursday Pilgrim

Giant Parental Fails

Emily was thirsty so we offered her some cranberry juice. She started complaining that she didn’t like cranberry juice. Finally I said this…

“Emily… remember how your vagina was hurting? This juice helps you! …It’s good vagina juice…” -me

“…..” -Joe

I hope to God they don’t serve cranberry juice at daycare. My kid will be telling everyone she is drinking good vagina juice.

Until next time,

I need to purchase apple juice

Kids: The Sunday Nightmare

We woke up early today to get out of the house and we started off with a leisurely, fancy breakfast at Friendly’s.  While we were there our kids were nothing but classy.

In the middle of breakfast, the kids started singing ‘I wish I was a little piece of soap;’ which is a song my mom used to sing to me while in the bathtub. Part of the song is ‘then I’d slippy and I sliddy over everybody’s hinny…’ But Emily added and ‘vagina and butt and penis and hinny!’ As loud as you can possibly imagine and yes, it was incredibly awkward.

Then shortly after our singalong, the great Friendly’s bathroom crawl started where all the kids need to go to the bathroom at once. When Emily heard this, she took it upon herself to stand on her seat and declare, ‘I have to pee.’ Meanwhile, I just kept drinking my coffee.

Then it was off to church. If you are familiar with my stories, the greatest and most awkward moments happen at church. Today was no exception. First, I have been having a rough time and all I wanted to do is to sing and listen to the readings but all my kids wanted to sit on me at once. Not just one but all at once.

When I finally literally had a second of no one on my lap, I hear Vincent reading. Yes, the church is quiet and my son is reading! You know that proud moment when your son is reading the hymnal? No? Yeah, it was fantastic… he even added the dramatic pauses because the words are broken up to go along with the music. I think he read pages 304, 606 and 51.

While this was happening, Emily climbed back on my lap to tell me that she was so sad because Jesus was dead.

Vincent was confused while I was drinking the blood of Jesus and why we were eating his body. Kind of extreme but I can’t lie which leads me to my next moment when I found out that I tell them too much.

Emily and I had to take the bathroom tour at St. Margaret’s. As soon as we walked in, she said ‘hey mommy… I know I can touch that trash can because it’s filled with blooooouuud.’ Yeah, maybe I should wait to talk about all of that puberty stuff and blood. I tried to be real but it’s awkward when they remember everything and there are other woman in the bathroom.

Then our Sunday nightmares took us to Kohl’s for a little shopping. Emily ran away and got lost because she couldn’t pick a toy for herself and was only getting toys for her cousins. I wanted to be like… Santa’s not coming to your house if you get lost here but I figured I wouldn’t say that and I went to find her instead.

Meanwhile, breakfast must have been so moving for Joe that he decided to take part in the Kohl’s bathroom tour of 2015. So he left me with like a million boxes and three kids.

I am looking through clothes when I hear, ‘Hi Nicholas… Oh! Hi Vincent!.’ And there they were. The boys were saying hello but not too each other but to their reflections in the mirror. Which is great because we don’t look nuts or anything. But let me tell you what made us look a little more crazy… The boys are screaming hello to themselves and I look down to see that Emily has dropped her pants and is walking through the aisles. Butt is out and all.

Dear. God.

Joe finally comes back and I am having a small meltdown. I look over and Emily is now in the middle aisle holding up her shirt to all those passing by. Cool. My kid is a nudist.

Finally we are on our way home. Thank God because I didn’t think I would make another minute. Then we got home and the kids all fall asleep in the car but God forbid we can transfer them to their beds. So they were upstairs for like two hours playing like they were the best of friends but as soon as they come into our presence, it’s like WWIII. What the hell?

Then we are watching some tv… finally a  little break! But no…Nicholas calls me his ‘cutie’ which is so adorable and he is my best cuddler, however today he was sitting on my lap with his hands down his pants. First of all, do this in your room Nicholas… not on your mom’s lap.

Finally, I told him to stop touch his man parts and to just put his hands in  his pockets. He looks up at me and says, creepily I might add, ‘mommy… I can still touch my penis.’ Eww. Get off of me now.

After this incident the kids got very excited about the Eagles winning over the Patriots that they decided to force farts out of their butts. I was afraid that they were going crap their pants. But you know, now that we are home, no one wants to do the great bathroom tour of our house.

Meanwhile, both of them our now crop dusting the entire house and no one is owning up to the fart smell that distinctly smells like potato chips.

So yes… that was just the morning to early evening. And that is why I am now drinking a beer.

Until next time,

I really want some potato chips.



Dented and Unlabeled

This week has been a really horrible week dealing with a past friend. I have really been depressed and it has affected a lot of my daily life and has become a major topic in my therapy sessions. Abandonment and trust are two of my biggest issues and here I am again, feeling like I have been left alone in a huge crowd of people. It is just my perception and not reality but it’s hard to remember that.

Here was my conversation last night with my husband and it perfectly describes how I feel and how much support Joe gives me.

“Joe. I feel so lost and alone. I feel like damaged goods. The best way to describe me is a canned good at the grocery store that’s dented and nobody wants and it has no label. I don’t even know who I am. I don’t even have a label.” -me

“Yeah but that’s why you have a good therapist now. Someone to show you that you aren’t just damaged goods. It doesn’t matter that you are dented and damaged on the outside because what’s inside is still good. And I still want you even if you feel damaged right now.” -Joe

Life has it’s ups and downs and right now my life seems like it’s spiraling out of control. Sometimes the pain inside is so intense it’s just completely and utterly unbearable. Sometimes I look for ways just to feel something- anything. It’s hard to be in this place and it’s harder when you don’t know how to get out. It is a terrible feeling to feel like you are damaged, dented, broken and unidentifiable… even to yourself.

I need to look past the people that don’t want me, even if I don’t understand why, to the people that do want me. And in those many times that I don’t want myself, I appreciate those who remind me that I am worth it. Now, I just have to find it within myself.

Support is important and I have found the greatest support system in an amazing therapist and a wonderful husband.

If you are depressed like me, hang in there. One day we will realize that we are worth it. One day our miracle will come.

Until next time,

Clean up in aisle 4.