the paper doll

A Spoon Full of Sugar

Dear Internet,

I just swallowed the first antidepressant of my life.  A half a pink tab with breakfast to see how I'd react.  A quick fix for a mere 10 dollar copay.

I already feel better even though I know I shouldn't.  Damn things take weeks to work.  But swallowing that thing was a sort of victory.  The first active decision I've made in months.

I'm finally taking control of my life.  One little pink football at the time.

I firmly believe in a mind body connection.  That stress makes you sick-causes cancer even.  I think it's why my pap smear came back abnormal.

My immune system just could fight the virus because it was too busy crying and wallowing in bed.  It also had been eating a lot of french fries and drinking plenty of wine.  And it never got out and exercised or did anything fun.

It just sort of gave up and let a nasty thing move in.

It's an incentive now to "pull out all the stops," as my therapist said.  To beat its ass with pills, yoga, fresh fruits and veggies, and 45 minutes a day on the treadmill.

To be well.  Not healthy.  Or on a diet.  Or just taking a drug.

But well.  Really, really, really well.  From the inside out.

-The Paper Doll is a-ok

What's that about trouble coming in threes or here's number two for the month

Dear Internet,

I have this thing I need to tell you.

Are you sitting down?  Do you have a trashcan handy?

Ok.

So my pap smear can back abnormal.

I know, I told myself all that too.  Happens all the time.  Is probably nothing.  No big deal.

Well it's not that simple.

I have atypical squamous cells.  Isn't that a fun word-squamous?  SQUAMOUS SQUAMOUS SQUAAAAAAMMMMMOUSSSSSSSSS.

They could be precancerous.  They could not be.

Who knows?  It's a big toss up in my vagina.

Worst case scenario-I have to have them removed.  Best-my body naturally rids itself of the virus and all is hunky dorky.

Oh yeah, I've also been diagnosed with a high risk strain of HPV.  One of the ones that causes cancer.

I'm having a biopsy on August 28th at 10:30 in the morning.  They'll pour vinegar into my who-ha and investigate with a microscope.  Then they'll scrap some cells into a dish and do some stuff to them and we'll go from there.

All I can do is wait.

And eat lots of fruits and vegetables.

-The Paper Doll says what next

I Got It All Right Up Here in My Head

Dear Internet,

I was out of town for more Scotland Wedding festivities.  This is quickly becoming the wedding that shall not die. 

Anyhoo, I was chatting with my grandfather's sister.  My great aunt?  The normal how are you what are you doing these days came up.  And I told her I was thinking about going back to school I just wasn't sure for what as there were several things I'm interested in. 

As I listed off the various things I could possibly grow up to be she stopped me looked me dead in the eye and said, "But what about your art?"

I blinked and stammered.  Oh yeah my art.

My art Internet.

She asked about my art.

My art.  My mystical nonexistent art.

I'm thinking this should be something I discuss with my therapist tomorrow, whattaya think?

XO,

The Paper Doll

My Dear John Letter

Through this amazing woman I found this.  A place you can post letters from your own John Carlo (that nasty ex-boyfriend who broke your heart).  The whole thing is very cathartic.  Writing the words you wished he'd always say to you gives you this hit of power.  I enjoyed the process so much I might repeat it for other people who've wounded me-friends, teachers, relatives.  I suggest you do the same.

The letter I wrote to my John Carlo follows.  He is several boyfriends at once.  One night stands even.  All the men who've let me down and taken advantage of me.  Some of you might not like it.  You may get offended.  May shake your head in embarrassment.  You may cluck and whisper.  The allusions I make to sex and violence may unsettle you.

But I happen to love this letter.

Dear Paper Doll,

When I asked you to dance for me I knew you would.  Even though it made you feel self-conscious and fat.  You were always doing things like that.  Dressing up, laying flat on your back in the van while I fucked you, saying things you hated yourself for.  But you never complained.  You just sweetly let me.  Your face was so angelic.  So yielding.  What I didn't see then was how much it hurt you.

I know that now, and these long years later I've begun to wonder what you were thinking when we were together.  It couldn't have been pleasant for you.  All those things I said.  How I'd come over in the afternoons for sex and leave you naked and cum-stained.  The time I got drunk and pissed in your closet all over your red shoes.  When I yelled at you in the parking lot, on the phone, in the bathroom.  When I grabbed you by the hair.  But especially when I walked out.  That's what hurt you the most wasn't it?

You always said it was ok the morning after but I know now there was something else you wanted to say as we lay across the bed and listened to NPR.  I should have let you instead of making sandwiches and stroking your hair.  I just really loved you then, in those small moments after a fight.  When your face wrinkled up or your eyes didn't blink because you were really listening.  God, you were beautiful.

I wish I could have loved you like that.  Intense and focused.  The way you did.  But I was young and dumb and I couldn't see you the way I do now.  I couldn't appreciate you because I was scared shitless.  You were so fierce and smart.  It made me feel so inadequate; that's why I did those things to you.  I did them to crush you because otherwise you'd fly off and leave me.  The only way I could keep you was to make you miserable. 

Now I'm miserable.  And you're off somewhere doing all the things I told you you couldn't. 

You're in love with a great man too.  One who kisses you and really means it.  Who brings you vanilla beans and brushes the hair from your eyes.  Who never leaves you like I did but who picks you up and twirls you around when you cry.

It's what you deserve after your years of suffering at my hand.  At times I wish I was that man, but I know I'll never be good enough for you.  So, I wander this earth in search of small glimpses of you.  The sunlight in Arizona is your hair.  The flesh of watermelons your lips.  The cold blue of twilight your eyes.  I drink it all in knowing this is the closest I'll ever come to you again.  And I say a silent prayer to God asking him to forgive the things I did.  Although I know some things, not even God can forgive.

Love Always,

John Carlo

Here's Looking at You Internet

Dear Internet,

I just want to give you a hug.  Seriously.  You're just the cutest, most wonderful, thing ever.

Thank you for all the nice encouraging emails and comments.  Here I was thinking you know that something was wrong with me and oh wrath and anger and how could I possibly go around being Depressed gah.  And it turns out a lot of you are Depressed.  In fact, this Depressed thing is like totally normal and really not all that scary and weird (wanna braid each other's hair and paint our toenails together and watch Breakfast Club?).

We've all been Depressed it turns out.  And IT WILL BE OK.

I love that about you Internet.  How when I'm feeling my crappiest, darkest, most low you are too.  Or either you have been before.  And you know.  You know that while I may ignore you, and write really dumb things to you, and become all hippie dippy love fest eventually I'll work it out.

Thanks for being so patient with me.  For letting me cry, and mess up, and try again.  I need that right now.  So you know you may want to advert your eyes for the next couple of weeks because I'm going deep into navel gazing.

Into the depths.  Further than any navel gazer has ever gone before.  I'll be uncovering the great mysterious of the navel.  This is one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. (Which can someone explain this to me because really aren't man and mankind sort of the same thing?  Oh, right...)

XO,

The Paper Doll

My Darkest Hour

Hi,

My name is The Paper Doll and I am depressed.

Instead of facing that fact I've been eating copious amounts of fatty foods (particularly of the fried carb version), not exercising, not going to yoga, and generally just wallowing around in bed watching bad prime time TV (I'm looking at you Wife Swap and Super Nanny).  This has been going on for about oh 9 months or so, when did posts start getting scarce around here?

I was forced to admit this in a very Jerry Springer like fashion on Monday when a strange man emailed me to say my boyfriend, yes the Musician, was having an affair with his wife.  HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH HIS WIFE.  Scream that about four million times, throw things, and cry until your face is swollen and you've got a pretty accurate reenactment of my Monday and Tuesday.

His allegations proved not entirely true, for those of you playing along at home.  But neither was the Musician a downy innocent either.

Hence, we had to begin dissecting the why and how could you and I was forced to admit that I haven't been the best mate in a long long time.

It's sort of hard to be sexy when you haven't shaved in ages and are gulp twenty pounds heavier than you use to be.  It's even harder when you slap your boyfriend's hand away because oh my god I must know how this rerun of House that I've already seen ends. 

Harder still when you tell yourself every day how crappy you look but you don't do anything about it.  You also don't acknowledge that your house has an very distinct funk. 

In fact everything is a distinct funk.

A big pot of swirling, black, funk.

One that I hope to tidy up in the next few weeks.  Calls have been made, blood drawn, appointments set.

For the first time in my life I'm admitting I can't do this alone.

Wish me luck.

-The Paper Doll is getting help and maybe some meds

Finding My North Star

Dear Internet,

You know I really salute those people who have visible tattoos.  It's quite the commitment to a certain lifestyle.  I really respect you for going all out, no holes barred.  I don't think I've ever known myself well enough to permanently ink my skin (or maybe I know myself well enough to know I change and there's no take backs on a tattoo that covers your whole arm and face).  What if I want to wear twin sets from the Gap one day?  Or be a teacher?  Or lawyer?  Or butcher, baker, or candlestick maker?  And then I'd have all those things on me. 

Talk about a North Star.  You people clearly know what you want in life.  You are on your path.  You're not wandering around Books-A-Million looking for self help books.

Which speaking of, so far I've learned that we all have a social self and an essential self.  To find one's North Star you must learn how to get your social self to shut up for a hot second so that you can do what your essential self really wants.

I've yet to learn that specific technique but I can now blame this social vs. essential self thing for why I'm late to work every morning.  Apparently my essential self doesn't use language it just makes you sick, or tired, or late for things it really doesn't want you to do.

I can't wait to tell my boss, Oh I'm sorry I'm running late my essential self really didn't want to come in today.

Somehow I don't think his social self would allow that.

-The Paper Doll thanks modern hippie dippie psychology

Breaking Up is Hard to do

Dear Vegetarianism,

I'm thinking of quitting you.  Now don't get upset.  I'm just thinking about it.  I'm not going to do anything rash like say have a steak for dinner.

But I just feel like we're not working out anymore.  We've been together for so long.  15 or so years.  The passion just isn't there anymore, Vegetarianism.

And honestly I don't even really remember why we got together in the first place.  Something about cruelty to animals and needing attention and purple hair but really I just don't know anymore.

And with all the organic and free range stuff out there I feel like I just need to date around.  Explore my options.  A lot has changed since we first met, you know.

I've really gotten into cooking and experiencing great food and I gotta say, Vegetarianism, you really limit me.  You're always there saying I can't have things.  You often make things so complicated when we go out.  It's just a hassle sometimes.

And for what?  What are you doing for me Vegetarianism?

I feel like crap most of the time and all your alternatives are full of hard to pronounce words and chemicals.  I just don't think you're good for me anymore.

It's not natural.  And I believe cancer feeds on the not natural.  The preservatives, coloring, filler, and crap we put in our food.  Why just the other day I was reading the back of one of your boxes and I was aghast.  Sure you are low in fat and calories but good lord you pack some unknown things in your depths.

I was so disappointed in you.  I thought you were good for me.  But how can disodium guanylate, disodium inosinate, and succinic acid be good for me?  I feel sort of cheated.

Now I'm not talking about a divorce.  I could never get rid of you completely. 

But I might need a little break.  Just some time to think things over.

Ok?

I'll always love you and never forget you.  You taught me so much.

Love,

The Paper Doll

Housekeeping

Dear Internet,

Let's get some stuff done, ok? 

First off that post about the gay marriage and stuff was aimed at a very specific slice of the Christian pie.  Namely the ONE man that I referred to over and over again in my post and in a larger sense the Christians who make gays feel worthless and unwelcome but have no problem sitting beside the sexually immoral, idolaters, adulterers, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, and slanderers in church.  All of whom are mentioned right along side the homosexual in that lovely passage in 1 Corinthians that's so often used to persecute the gays.

And there are lots of lovely Christians people out there.  Christian people who-shock-are open minded and have gay friends.  Not all Christians are the hell fire and brimstone kind of people. 

Also, it's not the being against gay marriage that makes you an asshole it's the way you are against gay marriage that makes you an asshole.  Anyone who screams and puts down people on national television is an asshole.  You don't agree that's fine just respectfully disagree.  And that goes for people on both side of the issue thank you very much.

So are we clear about all that Internet?  I didn't mean to launch a full frontal on all Christians.  Just the ones who are particularly hateful because I think that's sort of contrary to their core beliefs about love, and unity, and treating your neighbor like yourself.

Ok now that we got that out of the way could you people stop bombarding (I love that episode of the Simpsons) my in box with I'm so offended emails?  Ok, thanks.

On to another topic.

I need a niche.  Well first, Hi my name is The Paper Doll and I like self help books.  Not just any self help book but new agey yoga finding the way you are awesome and full of potential ones.  I know.  It's a dirty dirty dirty addiction.  They just make me feel so good.  I can't stop.

So yesterday I go to the bookstore in search of The Anti 9 to 5.  A self help book about ditching the cubicle life because I'm ready to ditch.  Of course they are all sold out. 

I also happen to be a sucker for Books-a-Million's 3 for 2 deal.  You get a book for free!  For free!  The first two were no brainers.  What is the What because everyone and their mama is reading this, or has read this, or is recommending that you read this.  So up on the bandwagon I go.  The other was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night because I've been meaning to read this for how many years now? 

Now the third book is always a crap shoot.  Which is why they have this deal in the first place-to sucker people into buying books no one really wants.  After passing over a huge selection of chick-let and other mysterious things I landed on Finding Your North Star.

I know.  I know.  But I had read the Joy Diet by the same author and it was good and I sure could use a North Star whatever the hell that is and I came in to get a self help book so I might as well leave with one.

And I did!  And I spent the right of the nite reading and filling in short answer questions.  It made me feel so productive.

I also learned I need a niche for this site.  A topic I blog about.  Cooking, crafting, arting, politicking.  Something I'm an expert on.

Got any ideas, Internet?

That's all.  Housekeeping over back to your regularly programed bull shit.

Love,

The Paper Doll

Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jog

Oh U.K,

You're so silly.  You're always putting things on the wrong side.  Toilet handles, cars, door knobs.  I felt like I was looking in a mirror the whole time I was with you.

And boy howdy you never sleep.  It's light out until 12 am.

And everything's so small.  I could barely sit on the can without bumping my legs on the stall door.  And what's with all the letting it mellow?  At home this is fine but really I think it's a tad bit inappropriate in a public toilet.

Which let me say I do love how you talk.  Toilets.  So charming.  And how you're always slipping in a quite and lovely.  So proper you are U.K.

And your chips are quite tasty.  As well as your beer and spirits.

I did have such a wonderful time, but I'm glad to be back.

XO,

The Paper Doll

PS-I've been in Scotland for the past 11 days for a wedding.  Will write more after I sleep.