The Porcelain Doll

This is a little story I wrote about self harm, numbness, emotional pain, recovering from that and coping with the way you are afterwards.

The Porcelain Doll

I’m a porcelain doll, beautiful and elegant but what they don’t see in the porcelain dolls are the particles of their porcelain skin that fall away when you touch them, the lashes that peel off, the tangles of hair that chain them to shelves where they lie alone with no ability to cry. They don’t feel a thing.

Some say they wish to never feel again so as not to be hurt, they wish they could lie on a shelf all day with not a care in the world, to be admired like a doll on a shelf. But what if you didn’t wish to be there yet you were? What if it was you on the shelf with all these feelings trapped behind your inanimate eyes that won’t emit tears, unable to escape the shelf because your tangles of hair are chaining you down?

The shelf became so melancholy I pulled away from it, wishing the tangles of hair would leave me alone. Not caring if they broke. Would I bleed if they did? I didn’t care. If I bled I would feel something, so I pulled harder. I fell off the shelf and cracked. The pain came, and I wished to cry, but I couldn’t understand why. I had hurt myself on purpose and I was angry because I knew it was wrong. I felt pain, pain that had been trapped behind my porcelain skin for longer than I could remember and it was a relief for a moment so I wished to cry from happiness. Yet still I was sad, because it hurt, I felt pain. My emotions swirled and spun until I realized the tears would never come.

When I realized the tears would never come I tucked away my emotions and wrapped my wound so it wouldn’t be seen. I took in what little air I could through my sealed porcelain lips that never spoke, and I stood. When I stood I cracked more. The pain intensified yet it was pleasurable. I knew it would take me down, and I would never walk again, but the pain was on my skin, not behind it and now I could see where I was walking for once. I could see without wondering about the pain because I could pinpoint just where and what the pain was.

I took a step and the porcelain continued to break but it didn’t stop me. The pain would end soon, I would fall, my eyelids would close, covering my shattered glass eyes and it would all be over. I continued to step in ways I knew would crack my porcelain skin more and more. I began to stomp with my shattering legs. The mix of anger, sadness and joy was the most satisfying combination of emotions I’d ever known and my lips cracked as the shattering moved up my body. I forced a smile through the cracks for the first time.

And then I heard footsteps. It was the teenage girl who took care of me since we were both young. She must have heard my stomping. I panicked. My cracks were showing, a trail of broken tangles was behind me and a few shards of porcelain around me. The wrap from my wound was ripped from the glass and lay on the floor just out of reach. I had no time to put myself back together. I suddenly lost my balance and fell. My eyes closed. And I heard the voice of the girl who hadn’t spoken to me in years.

She spoke my name. The way she said it was full of affection, sadness and confusion. I could not see her, but I could hear a crack in her voice, then a sniff. I felt her warm breath on my cracked skin, and it hurt. It hurt because I remembered when she looked at me the day she got me. Back when my hair was smooth and soft. Back when my skin was a pure ivory. It had never been touched. Her soft green eyes gazed up into my brown ones, and I’d never felt so loved. I remember how we played together and that same look of admiration was always there. I remember when her friends made fun of her for still having dolls at ten years old. She cried to me and my tangles of hair absorbed those tears. I couldn’t speak to her but it was as if I didn’t need to.

I remembered how important I was to her.

I felt her hands pick me up carefully. They were warm and wet, from the tears I could tell she’d been crying. She placed me on a soft surface and continued to cry while I laid there. She spoke to me. She told me about her tears, about the past few years, and how she’d been so lonely. Then she spoke about me, she figured I’d been lonely too. I felt her head hit the side of the bed I was laying on as her sobs continued. After a minute I felt a warm washcloth go across my dusty face and my eyelids open.

I looked up into her soft green eyes full of sadness. But it wasn’t just sadness I saw in them. Hidden behind her heartbreak and between the cracks of pain in her eyes, I saw that admiration. The same admiration she’d looked at me with the first day she saw me. I wondered why it was still there. I was cracked, shattered, broken, my hair was broken off and tangled, why did she still look at me as though I were as perfect as I was in the box?

She picked up my broken shards of porcelan and glued them back together and I carefully watched her expression as she sniffed back the last of her sadness and focused on putting me back together. After the concentration became easier I saw a smile break on her face as she began to voice all of our best memories. I began to regret falling off the shelf. I began to regret ever feeling lonely. I began to forget what that even felt like. Her tears had somehow melted away the shards of ice that once hurt me and held back my emotions.

When she finished putting me back together she placed me in front of a mirror and brushed through the remaining tangles and cut my hair to an even length. I looked different. I was still cracked, and my hair was short and choppy, but she looked at me with the same admiration. She told me I wouldn’t be so special if I didn’t look like this. If I hadn’t fallen off that shelf, lost a few lashes, locks and kept a few cracks, I’d be like any other doll on a shelf. She put me back on a new, dusted off shelf, and told me I was the doll she held closest to her heart and would never forget.

I’m still on a shelf, and I’m still alone, but I’m not forgotten and I’m not unloved. I’m still cracked and my hair never grew back. I didn’t get new clothes but I got new vision. I can see now, and I understand. I’m not unloved and I’m not alone. She walks past me every day and smiles when she sees me. So maybe I’m not the prettiest doll on the shelf, and maybe I fell off a few times, maybe I’m still too damaged to stand but that’s okay. If I wasn’t, what would make me different from all the other pretty dolls on the shelf?

Reviews

[Frevilly]

Really very emotional ...
At first I thought very lengthy not to read full.. But I started reading ... I continued n continued reading till the end....

Thank you very much for showing this picture.... *Smiles*

[Emma Dale]

Thank you for your kind words, I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)

[Frevilly]

Its my pleasure .....really very nice reading it