I feel like a broken doll today. It is a fitting comparison really. It is an accurate one. I was fun for the people in my life when I was young and innocent. They enjoyed dressing me up and playing house.
Now they have hid me away, out of sight and they don’t notice me deteriorating slowly. Like an old porcelain doll that is cracked and has a dull gray color to it instead of the beautiful skin color. There are no red rosy cheeks anymore. The bright eyes might as well be voids at this point. The hair is all knotted and frail. The clothes have holes and are covered in dust and dirt. Parts are missing. Things are tearing apart at the seams. What little strands are left are the only things holding it together. If it is moved an inch it is going to be lost forever. This is not something that they can fix.
This is the perfect description for what I see myself as right now. I am lifeless, broken, dirty, all used up, and I am falling apart. I wonder if anyone really notices, or if people care if they do notice.
And I feel like once someone does it will be too late. You can’t have the prefect porcelain doll back after it is broken. They are too much work to fix. You can just get a new one. I know it is the same with me. I am replaceable in almost every relationship I am in. I will not be missed.
So if I know all this then why do I still sit and do nothing? I wish I knew the answer. I am the doll that is broken. Sitting upon a chest of toys in the attic, hoping and praying someone will miss me enough to come get me again. To clean me up and put me back together. Just one more chance to play. One more chance to live. Just one. Because I am running out of everything else. And I just wish I had one moment to live, be happy, and mean something to someone.
This is the last wind up of the doll. The song is getting old.
13 comments
Very well written.
Thank you. I appreciate that.
I love the analogy. There are many artists that take old porcelain dolls and repurpose them into these exquisite dolls. Sometimes they are frightful, or fanciful, or just plain bizarre.
The important thing is that they could be repurposed if they were perfect. Someone took them apart and put them back together again as something amazing. I myself have a box of old porcelian dolls in my closet. there are 18 of them, all in varying states of disrepair. I take them out on occasion and think about what I want to do with them. I’m still thinking. But I would love to do something like this woman:
theinspirationgrid.com/tattooed-porcelain-dolls-by-jessica-harrison/
She also does other things. One of a kind things. I would sell my children into slavery to get my hands on one of her pieces of art.
You could be that. Something so beautiful that a woman living in Texas would be willing to sell her kids into slavery to just touch your fine cool surface.
No really you could. Beautifully written.
count not be repurposed. autocorrect hell.
Lol I hate autocorrect. But I thank you for your kind words. I appreciate the time you took to comment on this. I can only hope that I could be something wonderful one day. Something that people take notice of.
Jessica’s work is actually stunning. I really appreciate you sharing that with me.
If you ever do anything with your dolls please share. I would love to see what you come up with.
Very well written, such a great description. You may feel broken and faded, but you still have your spirit. Hang on to that.
Thank you. I don’t know what else to say besides that. I appreciate it.
I hope you can believe it. You offer great support here. I for one appreciate it.
I don’t really think I do. I kind of just float around and comment when I have something to say. Sometimes thinking my advice is unwarranted. But I am somewhat glad that you feel that way. Hope I can help.
I can’t say I’ve ever thought of myself as a doll (being male), but I can relate to your analogy. I was good at a lot of things when I was a kid but now I’m mostly a prisoner of my emotions which I can’t control or regulate. Maybe I’m a toy train that used to be able to go really fast and climb steep hills and do all kinds of other cool stuff, but now just kind of putters along slowly and dies with an awful sound whenever it gets to a hill.
I can picture the train analogy too. So many things can be compared to these feelings we all have. What we all see ourselves as. But I guess the important thing to take note of is that you can still make it over the hill. And now it is an even bigger accomplishment when you do. Give yourself a little credit when you deserve it.
This is amazing. Now that you put it I words, it seems so perfect, a perfect explanation. I am broken, cracked into a thousand pieces. No one helps me put myself together again, I have to find myself alone. But I believe there’s hope for every single one of is still. Stay strong x
I think we are giving each other hope. Creating it for ourselves. As if all of us broken toys are playing together and we don’t miss anything else that much. We accept and fix each other.