voodoo doll
When I was little, my parents gave me a baby doll. For the era of doll technology they gave it to me in, it was quite advanced. It would close its eyes when you laid it to rest, and make a crying sound if you knocked it. Now she has her eyelids sewn shut and never cries.
She’s my voodoo doll. When I’m depressed, I stick pins in her rather than myself. She’s not a very good voodoo doll, as I don’t feel any pain when I carry out acts of physical violence on her, but somehow she helps. The last time I suffered total depression, I stuck her in a watering can in the garden and forgot about her for months. When I went to get her again, she wasn’t even that recognisable. Just a scarred, plastic head and limbs attached by rotting cloth and a broken speaker. Nonetheless, I took her out and washed her and put her back in her box under the bed. She stays there until I need to use her.
What’s interesting about her, is that I’m not sure of what she’s a voodoo doll for. I suspect it’s myself. But I don’t particularly want to harm myself. I got over that a long time ago. She doesn’t represent any specific person apart from me. She doesn’t represent my tendency for wanton destruction, because I don’t think I have one.
But there is something in me, which is aching to be let out at some of the lowest points of my life. Something dark and sinister and secret, that wants to come out and run around in the dark but never been seen. My doll has seen it, or at least, felt it. It’s an attack of some part of my character, possibly the romantic side, or the weak side, if they’re different things. It’s hard to name her.
But whatever that thing is, I’m glad that I’ve now found a replacement for my nameless doll. This site. You can stick as many pins in it, in the broad light of day, and still that thing inside me is dark and secret. Maybe one day I’ll understand what it is. It must be on its last legs by now. When I can approve one of my many semi-written posts onto this site, I hope it's thrashed to death and autopsied.
Okay - sorry if that was warped. That’s just me. If it’s any consolation, I’ll be burning the doll and putting its tired ashes to sea at some point. She’s endured enough of me. I’m quite happy to use this pincushion of a site to represent that part of me I hate.
Whatever that is.
She’s my voodoo doll. When I’m depressed, I stick pins in her rather than myself. She’s not a very good voodoo doll, as I don’t feel any pain when I carry out acts of physical violence on her, but somehow she helps. The last time I suffered total depression, I stuck her in a watering can in the garden and forgot about her for months. When I went to get her again, she wasn’t even that recognisable. Just a scarred, plastic head and limbs attached by rotting cloth and a broken speaker. Nonetheless, I took her out and washed her and put her back in her box under the bed. She stays there until I need to use her.
What’s interesting about her, is that I’m not sure of what she’s a voodoo doll for. I suspect it’s myself. But I don’t particularly want to harm myself. I got over that a long time ago. She doesn’t represent any specific person apart from me. She doesn’t represent my tendency for wanton destruction, because I don’t think I have one.
But there is something in me, which is aching to be let out at some of the lowest points of my life. Something dark and sinister and secret, that wants to come out and run around in the dark but never been seen. My doll has seen it, or at least, felt it. It’s an attack of some part of my character, possibly the romantic side, or the weak side, if they’re different things. It’s hard to name her.
But whatever that thing is, I’m glad that I’ve now found a replacement for my nameless doll. This site. You can stick as many pins in it, in the broad light of day, and still that thing inside me is dark and secret. Maybe one day I’ll understand what it is. It must be on its last legs by now. When I can approve one of my many semi-written posts onto this site, I hope it's thrashed to death and autopsied.
Okay - sorry if that was warped. That’s just me. If it’s any consolation, I’ll be burning the doll and putting its tired ashes to sea at some point. She’s endured enough of me. I’m quite happy to use this pincushion of a site to represent that part of me I hate.
Whatever that is.
posted by Christmas Myth | 6:43 pm
Freak. We'll get to the bottom of you.
(am loving the analogy of this site being a voodoo doll for romance/weakness, good call)
Welcome back CM... Pull up a chair of dead, bleeding doves and stay a while - it's business as usual here.