Annoyances: ignorance, exclusion
Accomplishments: half marathoning, artwork, grades
Confusion: other people, my idealistic worldview
Sorrows: grades, cross country races, my parents
Dreams: a successful marriage, run a marathon, have matching silverware and towels (I know that one is a little weird), spend my life doing something that makes me happy
Idiosyncrasies: cute (idk I’m told I’m cute a lot and I’m not really sure why because most days I feel like a nasty kraken beast)
Risks: my own stubbornness
Beloved Possessions: Mr. and Mrs. Kitty, my photo albums, my music collection, half marathon metals, letters from my friends and family
Problems: dealing with sadness and frustration, talking when I should
I can relate to horror movies. while messing around in the attic a little girl finds a doll tucked in the corner behind a stack of boxes and other junk. Faded and tattered, the light blue dress makes the cracked porcelain face glow in the dim lighting. Black, beady eyes and scraggly hair complete the eerie package, yet the little girl just giggles and decides to introduce the abomination to the rest of her toys at the next tea party. Afraid her parents will take away her new friend, she tucks it away under her bed. Her secret is safe, but she isn’t. Incessant beckoning from the doll begins to consume the girl…
“Play with me. Play with me. Play with me. I’m the only one who loves you. PLAY WITH ME!! PLAY WITH ME!!”
Sitting on the couch with the rest of your friends you’re all screaming and throwing popcorn at the tv. “STOP DON’T DO IT! IT’S GOING TO KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY! HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID??!!!NOOOOOOOOO!!!”
But now you’re on a different couch. There’s a bunch of diplomas on the wall and tacky knickknacks for the littler kids to play with because they don’t know how to use their words. But neither do you. The stench of Yankee candles and unused psychology books permeates the air, making it virtually useless to your lungs. The guy, who your parents pay seventy five bucks an hour for you to stare at, drones on and on about emotions, and how it’s okay to cry, and it’s important to focus on stuff that makes you happy. But you just want dolly. “Come play with me”, it beckons. Your family and friends are your sane audience, screaming at you to stop because they don’t want to see the bad that happens.
For two years I’ve gone back and forth. While I devote my free time to my art, running, music, planning a future for myself... the metaphorical dolly under the bed calls my name. Eerie. Both strange and frightening, but increasingly familiar. Is it familiarity that makes it so terrifying? Or is it because I still don’t know how this movie ends?
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