I am a doll.
An adorable pet you may want to set on a glass shelf for everyone to see, to prod and to admire.
But that perfectly painted face hides my strength, my perseverance and my hostility. Hostility for the world that I live in, that has exhilarated and hurt me beyond recognition. Hostility for the vulnerability inside me that adds to the doll facade. Hostility for my addiction to love, any semblance of love I can get my hands on.
A vulnerability that I showcase proudly at times, but most often that I hide away deep inside me, behind an illusion of perfection. Because vulnerability is too terrifying for me to truly consider unleashing it. It triggers a strong flight response to every other corner of the world.
I want to be admired, to push me to believe that I can be enough. Through other’s eyes I see a stranger. A stranger with a face of porcelain, a laugh like chimes in the wind and a smile that shines like a thousand candles. I see her and I love her. The distortion of myself that my own eyes see is nothing but my demons playing with me. She is the epitome of who I want to be.
When I am alone, at times, my doll-like features seem to fade, my demons play with me at times, in the dark. They tell me that she is nothing but who I show the world. She is not me, not really. I am not that special, not that valuable, not that much of a good girl.
Most times now, I whisper confidently back that they are wrong. One day, one moment, one second at a time I am silencing them. I know that they are really lost children that need to be nurtured, cajoled into calming their storms inside me. They are my past selves suffering for the hurt they suffered through.
I am learning that love is to be celebrated in all it’s forms, that my capacity for it does not make me weak, and although it will hurt, it is worth every last drop of pain to live through the moments of bliss.
I am meant to feel deeply, to love without limit, to share my light with the world. I dream of the day that the doll and the demons can play together in peace. Every moment gets me closer.
The doll may exude perfection, but it is in her small imperfections that she shows her rarity, her journey, her well loved edges.
I love her. She is the best of me.