Porcelain Doll

Source: TheDollStudio.com. Image links to source.

I feel like a doll.  A doll with glass eyes.  A doll made of a porcelain head, arms, and legs.  Fragile, hollow, empty, lifeless.  I look out on the world and see nothing. My eyes have lost their sparkle.  I feel nothing.  I see nothing.  I am a porcelain doll.

I am depressed.  I didn’t realize it at first because it snuck in without knocking.  But now I see it.  This is *one of the ways I feel when I’m depressed.

There are some good friends here at school who would (and do) support me.  But most of the time I do not even know how to ask for the help I need, or even what to ask for.  I grew up in a narcissistic family, and as a result, I struggle to care for myself or recognize my own healthy needs and wants.  I am very good at helping those around me and caring for others, but self-care is a whole other world.

I want to get help.  I want to heal my wounds and be able to care for myself when I’m depressed.  I’m grieving the loss of my childhood.  I’m crying for my younger self who should have been nurtured and taught how to care for herself, but wasn’t.  But mostly, I am just laying on my bed feeling emotionless – staring at a computer screen covered in mindless games and TV shows.  Because I don’t feel anything on days like this.  Some days, getting out of bed and eating meals is all I can manage.

Giving myself (and others) grace is another gift I wish I had been given earlier in life.  And love.  Accepting love is really really hard for me.  My family fucked me over (excuse the language).  And they did it without even realizing it, and with the best intentions and all the love they knew how to give.  But it still messed me up.  Even with good intentions, they still hurt me deeply.

This is a tiny piece of the iceberg of issues I am trying to work through in my personal life right now.  It’s been rough.  It’s even harder while being depressed.  But it’s worth it.  Someday I will no longer be a porcelain doll.  I will be a warrior queen who is able to care not only herself, but also able to care for, stands up for and protect others.

After thought: There was a moment today when I was able to feel something.  As I stepped out of the elevator onto my dorm floor, I was immediately hit by the strong smell of chai.  It smelled wonderful and made me feel happy and energized for a few minutes.  It was marvelous.

* Depression looks and acts differently on different days, with different medications, and for different people.  This description is not meant to in any way envelope the entire spectrum of depression.  My own depression doesn’t always manifest itself this way either.

Finding the Words


Photo taken in Ukraine in 2013

Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
Into motion
Like how a single word
Can make a heart open
I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion.
– Rachel Platten, Fight Song

I have been searching for the right word, or words, to share for over two years now.  But the words have been bottled inside of me, spinning frantically around and crashing into each other.  Thumping and bumping.  Clanging and clattering. Chasing and challenging.  They refused to come out, to be seen.

And all those things I didn’t say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?

But now the words are finally starting to pour out.  And it’s too late to plug up the hole.  They must break free.  They must be heard.

This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I’m alright song
My power’s turned on
Starting right now I’ll be strong

I’m not alright, but this is my fight song.  I grew up in a fundamentalist, narcissistic, and spiritually-, emotionally-, and physically-abusive home and church environment.  I’m twenty one years old, and I am fighting each day to re-learn who I am outside of the box I was raised in and discover healing and growth.

I’ll play my fight song
And I don’t really care if nobody else believes
‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me

I’m writing because I need to share for my own sake.  I’m writing because I hope to reach out and help others who are on a similar journey.  I’m writing because every person’s story is valuable, and I am a person.  My story needs to be heard.  All of it.  The joyful parts.  The sad parts.  The angry parts.  The embarrassing parts.  The hopeful parts.  Every part is piece of who I am and I hope to share some of the pieces with you.  There’s a scariness to sharing my story, to opening up about what I remember, to what I’ve experienced.  But there’s also a sense of exhilaration and freedom!  Will you come join me on my journey?

Losing friends and I’m chasing sleep
Everybody’s worried about me
In too deep
Say I’m in too deep
And it’s been two years I miss my home
But there’s a fire burning in my bones
Still believe
Yeah, I still believe