Let's give it another go, shall we?

It's been too long since last I wrote. I was feeling incapable of writing the types of things I'd set out to write; incapable of delving deep and coming out on the other side, better for it. I was plenty capable of the dive--of going to that dark place that is all too familiar--but I lacked confidence in my ability to come back into the light, so to speak. To be honest, I'm still not sure I can do that. I'm going to give it my best try, though.

I'll admit, I've got a glass of wine next to me. It seems when I've had a little bit to drink the words flow, not better, really, but more readily. Sometimes that helps.

Often, when emphasizing the positive aspects, I feel like a hypocrite. Here I am, in that dark place, talking about the bright side of things and not really feeling that there is a bright side. I do that with my therapist from time to time (ok... often) and I feel like I'm faking it. But... fake it 'til you make it, right? I'm not so sure about that, but I keep doing it. A part of me believes that if I convince other people that I'm thinking positive (and more accurately, feeling positive,) it will eventually be true. I can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing. Am I denying my true feelings by trying to put them in the best light? Perhaps. I suppose only time will tell.

I know I sat down with the intent to write something more substantial than the above ponderings, but now I can't think of what that something was. So, for now, I'm just going to end here and hopefully come back tomorrow (or maybe even later this evening) with something better.

Begin at the Beginning

I talked to my dad and little brother today on webcam. I love that fact that, even 1,000 miles away, I can see my adorable little brother. He seems so excited to talk and to show me his new toys. I only wish I could hug him.
He sang "You Are My Sunshine" for me, though his version of it was actually "You Are Mine Sunshine." It's the song Daddy sings to him before bed. I told him that Daddy used to sing that to me, too.
I was very happy to know that my dad is doing everything he can to give my little brother a good life.
I was nostalgic, too. I suddenly remembered writing a new verse for that song. (I can't remember it now; that was at least 14 years ago.)
My dad then reminded me about a song I sang for him in front of an audience at the Father's Day picnic where his band was playing.
Remembering it now, sad to say, I feel a little embarassed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If anyone should ask me
To do something that's bad,
I'll shake my head,
And tell them "NO!"
Then I'll be like my dad.

I thought it was the best thing ever. I thought he was the best thing ever. It wasn't until a few years later that I learned he was doing "something that's bad."

Suffice to say that from the time I was about 12 years old (when my parents split up) until about two years ago, my dad was in and out of rehab six times for drug addiction.

Everyone, at some point, realizes that daddy is not Superman. I wish I had come to this realization in a different way. I wish I had simply reached a certain level of maturity and understanding in the world when I realized that Daddy doesn't know everything. He is human. The fall from god to human is much less devastating than that of god to monster.

--Let me take an aside here to say that my dad is not a monster. He is a human, and he struggled with his addiction as humans do. At the time, though, in my confused and devastated point of view, he was a monster.--

That was when I truly began to hurt myself.

If you really want to dig deeper, take a closer look at my childhood, you will see isolated incidences of self-injury long before that.

I'm not going to delve into said incidences. I feel they are irrelevant.

So there it is. The beginning. The time when childhood ended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He has now been clean for quite some time, and living a relatively normal life. I cannot even begin to express how happy... relieved... proud that makes me feel. I am immensely glad that he can be for my little brother what he--because of his addiction at the time--could not fully be for me and my older brother.

Getting to Know You

She sickens as the days go on
She weakens every week
And sometimes she feels so much hate
That she can barely speak

They tell her that she's beautiful
And she doesn't think it's fair
That she can't seem to find
This beauty they declare

There's too much here, too much there
And too much locked inside
There's far too much of modesty
And not enough of pride

And she feels like a broken doll
A hollow porcelain shell
Their precious cracked "beauty"
Their tragic mademoiselle.

She sickens as the days go on
She weakens every week
And sometimes doesn't feel anything
And she can barely speak

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi. I'm Porcelain Doll, and the purpose of this blog is to write about the aspects of my life that sometimes hurt to write, and about what I've done (and am doing) to deal with them.

I know the name isn't original. I'm sure there are many people out there who feel like a porcelain doll: Pretty to look at, but hollow inside, and moments away from shattering.

Writing is therapeutic for me. It's also something I enjoy very much. So, if anyone reads this, I hope they find some help in knowing that they are not alone. If no one reads it, that's alright, too. I'm writing for myself as much as for anyone else.

For the sake of brevity (because who really wants to read an introduction as long as a book?) I'm going to list the main points I will probably be writing about. I'll go into further detail throughout later posts.

I will be writing about:

• Self-Injury
• Depression and Anxiety
• Abusive Relationships
• Sexual Assault
• Everyday Frustrations and Inspirations

And above all:

• Hope and Healing

So, if you're coming with me, then I welcome you.

Best of wishes,

Porcelain Doll