the paper doll

Over the Counter (and Under)

Dear Internet,

Where to begin?

I had the crud most of last week.  You know those god awful commercials with the animated mucous people?  Yeah they took over my body and invaded my sinuses.  And made me collect my spittle in a cup for inspection.  Turns out other people aren't really interested in what you hack up.

In fact it's sort of nauseatingly gross to them.

I just thought it sort of a feat.  Who know my body could produce a substance of such color and slime.  I was proud of what my sinus cavity created.  The Musician on the other hand not so much.  I believe gag would more aptly describe his feelings about the matter.

So while I should have been gorging on eggs and chocolate I was huffing Sudafed and praying to the gods for forgiveness because clearly I had done something to anger them the pain in my throat, head, and nose was so bad.

Today I feel better.  Well better in body but not spirit.

See, when I tore out of work in a fever induced stupor on Wednesday I left my anti-depressants.  I spent most of Thursday knocked out.  So by the time I realized my error on Friday the building was on lock down for the Easter holiday.

I went 4 days without my meds and I could feel the difference.  Well not until the Musician hurtfully asked, Are you off your meds?

Aside from the dickery of the comment he was right.  I WAS off my meds.  I was a crying.  Short tempered mess.  He didn't handle it well.  I didn't handle it well.  It was perhaps one of the worst weeks of our coupledom.

I know there was a lot more to it than just not having the drugs in my system.  I was sick.  Easter is especially hard for me.  It was one of my mom's favorite holidays.  I bored.  Oh god was I bored.  And the University has completely screwed up my financial aid.

So I had a lot going on.

But it makes me worry about the future when I do go off my antidepressants.

It also makes me worry about the Musician and me.

I need someone who can handle me.  Meds or not.  And we barely squeaked by this week.

I did, however, make a decision about the couch.  I'm going with the white.  And the corner version. 

Once I got tired of Oprah and felt a little better I measured out my space and marked where the loveseat and couch combination would go.  And then I marked the corner couch dimensions. 

Results were overwhelmingly in favor of the corner version.  It'd just be too much furniture if I got the couch and the love seat.  And it would waste a lot of space.

So I'm putting in an order for the white corner Ektorp because ofcourse it isn't available in my local store so I'll be paying the 200 dollar shipping and handling fee.  Yay!

I also have a lot of house projects and things to up date you on.  Turns out when you're high on Sudaded you can get a lot of stuff done.

Pictures will be forth coming.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Moved

Holy crap, Internet, this touches me in so many ways.

What a freaking incredible thing.  I wish they would have been around when my mom was diagnosed.  I'm so inspired by this.  I want to start one in my own town.  What a great way to combine art and love and memory.  As a child who lost her mother there are so many things you take for granted.  So many things you count on her telling you.  Or asking her over the phone.

Shortly after my mom died my dad and I were so vexed because we couldn't find one of her recipes.  And I didn't know what her favorite song was.  And don't even get me started about getting married and having babies without her.  It gives me hives just thinking about it.

But if we had called Let There Be Mom there would be records for us.  Things written for me.  Preserved.

A little bit of her left for me when I needed it.

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

Queen of DeNile*

Internet,

Here's a list of things I've been avoiding:

• Laundry
• The laundry room
• The dirty clothes hamper
• The crap in my car including the dirty clothes
• The dishes
• The trash
• The target bag looped over the kitchen cabinet knob that acts as a second trash can
• The target bag looped over the kitchen cabinet knob that acts as a third trash can
• The rotting pumpkin on my front porch
• The other rotting pumpkin on my front porch
• Dust
• Dog hair
• Living like anything other than a slob

So Internet when I've resorted to wearing my underwear inside out because I really don't have a clean pair.  Not even that old pair.  Not even that old pair at the back that's for when I'm on my period and I don't have another clean pair.  When I don't even have that pair.  I know I'm avoiding something.

Something bigger than laundry and dirty dishes and comet sized balls of dog hair.

I'm avoiding dealing with something.  Favoring to watch TV, drink wine, and eat a whole plate of spinach dip for dinner (followed by a carton of ice cream) instead.

God if I were just a more rational woman maybe I wouldn't be 30 pounds over weight.

Seriously?  Who eats this stuff then instead of throwing away the waste leaves it to rot in a bowl or ooze out of a Target bag looped over the freaking silverware drawer.

I need help. 

Help and a maid.

I also need to quite wigging the fuck out about what I'm doing with my life.

I also need to get over myself and clean before DHEC declares my house a biohazard.

I also need to exercise and stop eating ice cream.

And then I see the huge list of things I need to be doing.  Should be doing instead of watching Gilmore Girls all day and I reach for another carton of ice cream.  Bake another pizza.  And hang another Target bag over the cabinet door.

It's just easier-being lazy.

Because if I actually did all those things what would be on my list then?

Deal with life.

Make decisions.

Study for LSAT.

Admit you really miss your mom.

I'd much rather it read-Pass the chips and turn on House.

Denial is a powerful thing. 

If only it could mask the odor coming from my kitchen.

(sigh)

-The Paper Doll is suffering from a little depression she just doesn't want to admit it

*I have a coworker who reads trashy girl novels...this was seriously the title of a book.  A book someone was reading.  Reading because they wanted to no less.  

hello again my old friend

dear internet,

holy crap it's been awhile.  whew. 

the past few weeks i've been struggling with a major case of vagina brain.  usually, i have no problem spewing this all over the internet.  making you read some jumbled up text about my depression.

however, the twenty-seven posts i wrote then deleted then wrote again told me this time i might better sit on my hands.  the writing thing just wasn't working internet.

i might post the one's i saved now that i've started my period and my mind has cleared.  perspective is a beautiful thing and so is having the good sense to keep mental junk under lock and key.

things have been going on with me.  dark twisty merdith grey like things (oh don't get your panties in a wad i'm not going to jump into some freezing cold lake).

things i think i'm finally beginning to work through.  but i'm not ready to share all that here.

i'm not even sure i know much about my depression besides that it comes and goes.

grief is not like the ocean with steady waves but more like a tsunami.  one huge wave that you can't escape.  no matter how far you run it always catches up with you.

the good thing though is that it gives you time before it hits again.  allows you to rebuild and move to higher ground.  and if you pay close enough attention there's warning of its coming.

i know i'll always have to fight the wave. 

i'm just glad things have settled down because good god internet i don't think i could have stood another day of whiny crap.

i just needed to tell you that so i could begin to write about other-funnier-things like falling down and holiday cheese spreaders.

-the paper doll hates pms

tying a string around my finger

dear internet,

i was cleaning out my work in-box because lord jesus at the crap in there.  because some people don't ever bother to do this our system deletes emails every day that are three months old.  if you want to save your work crap then you have to archive it.  which seems like a good idea at the time but then you go in there months later and it turns out you never needed that stuff either.  and half of it refers to projects you can't even remember.

then there are the things you do remember, and they smack you in the face.

the mass email sent out when my mom died made it into my archive box and has been sitting just a click away.

i don't remember reading it the week i got back from bereavement leave.  but as i stared at its date the shock of time hit me.

two years.  this november it will be two years.  yet, as cliche as it is, it seems like yesterday.

i know november is still a distance away.  but my birthday's not and technically this will be the second one i've had since her death.

her death still seems strange to type.  like it hasn't fully sunk in.  and often when the spirit moves me i still shake and cry violently with grief.

i guess i say all this because as you get older time really does move faster.

and sometimes you need something to remind you how long it's really been.

so i'll never forget....

i graduated high school in 2001.

2001-2002 was my freshman year in college.  i don't remember much because this was the year of bands and dancing on bars.  the writer was in there somewhere too.

2002-2003 i was a sophomore.  part of the time i spent pinning over a failed relationship (see the writer) the other i got drunk (with my freshman girls because i somehow thought being an RA was a good idea).

2003-2004 junior year.  the year of walter and of france.

it was september 2004 when i got back in the country that my mother was diagnosed.

i was in what would be my last semester in college.

december 2004 i graduated early to spend the whole next year in hospital rooms.

november 6 2005 my mother died.

may 2006 walter and i broke up.

june 2006 i changed my life.

a few months later i met the musician.

-the paper doll is living in the past but just for a moment

raising a glass instead of a hankie

oh dear internet,

i can't tell you how much this blog post encouraged me.  i always felt like i've done a different kind of grieving.

the kind that comes in with songs and smells and tastes.  that wrenches the tears from my eyes when i carve pumpkins or sit by the beach. 

when i do those things that are infused with her.

it seems more authentic.  more cleansing when i let the tears pour from my eyes instead of planning them out.

dictating that i be sad today just because of its date.  when really i feel nothing but joy.  overwhelming joy.  for the life i have and the thanks to be given.  for the mother i got to know for a brief time.  for the boyfriend i just found.  for the women in my life.

my mother gave me so much.  the world so much.  laughing until her last day.

touching the world with her grace and confidence.  why celebrate that with sadness?  why fondle the bad times with a frown?

she wouldn't have wanted it that way.  and neither do i.

because yoga teaches you to live in the moment.  and this moment right now it is bursting forth with possibilities and goodness.  with remembrance and a buoyant heart.

that's what i'll honor today.  what i'll celebrate with a toast to her name. 

because she would have wanted it that way.

-the paper doll says the best way to conjure somebody up is to let their spirit live through all that you do

memento mori

it's not so much that you get over someone being gone but that you learn how to live around their absence.

it's what i've been doing this past year.  learning how to step around the big gapping hole.

some days it's easy.  lightly bounding through the hours.

others.  it's like trying to breathe air through water.

there's no real comfort.  no easing.  just a constant throbbing ache you begin not to notice.

i wish i had a cure.  a fix it.  wisdom for those sharing my shoes.

but i don't.

they lie when they say it gets easier.  it doesn't really.  it just gets different.  older.

i imagine it's like losing a limb.  you learn how to compensate but you always miss the appendage.  are aware how much life would be easier if it were still there.

but you survive.  because it's what we're made to do.

even through our own fragility and mortality.  we survive.  we put one foot in front of the other.  we stitch together the wound.

and we remember.

because it's all we can do.

-the paper doll misses her mommy

sliding doors

timing.  is of the essence.  time flies.  the best of times.  the worst of times.  find time.  make time.  kill time.  time out.  time delay. 

timing.

the one thing besides death and taxes we can't stop.

it marches on.  it turns.  it runs.  we never have enough of it.  and we always notice when it's been bad.

when the alarm goes off too late.  when the coffee takes too long.  when you just miss the one you love.

timing.

it puts you in the right place at the right time.  or in the wrong place at the wrong time.  or in the right place at the wrong time.  or in the wrong place at the right time.

it's who we blame and who we curse.  who we praise and who we thank.

timing.

the universe wields it as she sees fit and yet another year passes and you don't even know where the time went.

the anniversary of my mother's death is on monday  sandwiched right between halloween.  all souls day.  remembrance day.  veteran's day.

i can't help but notice the timing of it.

when the days are getting shorter.  when the earth is becoming dormant.  when we stop to remember.

an auspicious time i didn't notice when it happened a year ago.  but one i realize to be special this year. 

a fitting time to honor her.

to have lost her.

if such a thing could exist.

because the whole world seems to be echoing my loss as the trees drop their leaves and bow their branches in remembrance.

as the grass dries and turns to dirt.

as the sun pulls the clouds over her face.

as the world dies a little.

like i do.  like i will each year time goes by without her.

but that's the thing about time.  it moves.  it marches.  it passes.

and soon the leaves will be green.  the air warm.  the flowers pushing their faces out of the dirt to see the sun. 

and time will have once again worked its magic.

-the paper doll bows her head in sadness, honor, and respect

sunday school

when i make the hour long trek to my dad's house i always pack a set of church clothes.  i know even if i have every intention of only spending the day with him that the temptation of a hot home cooked meal and a cold beer will win every time.  and i'll find myself turning down the covers of my childhood bed instead of pressing the accelerator home. 

my mother made it clear to me that i was to take care of him after she died.  that the two of us would have to support each other and cling together through our grief.  and while dad and i never really talk about it, my weekend visits push us both out of the dark times.

church is something we both do out of habit when we are together.  him taking the role of responsible southern father and me obedient child.

so he rouses me with a hefty get up yelled through the door we're going to be late, get up. 

i roll over blink my eyes, shuffle out of the room, and complain-your typical surly teenager.

we both nod in and out through the sermon and grin and bear all the how are yous, are you ok, let me know if there's anything i can do.

one thing that struck me about this sunday was the children's sermon.

using a magnifying glass and a map the preacher asked all of us, what are you magnifying?

it resonated with me especially because as i stumble through this year i realized i have some very conscious decisions to make.

i could be angry and hurt and vindictive.  i could shake my fists at the sky and curse the gods.

i could be miserable and mope and cry.  screaming why me?

i could be hundreds of things that after the year i've had would be legitimate responses.

or i could just accept it.  and choose to magnify love and thanksgiving.

could show the world that while i'll never understand why those i love best were taken from me, at least i can wade through the rubble with a smile and grateful heart.

acknowledging that things-even awful things-are always for the best.

because when magnified i want people to see the true beauty within.

not the crushing anger and hurt i so often feel.

i want, when magnified, to light up the sky with joy.  to be so bright people can't help but squint their eyes and change the way they see the world.

-the paper doll wants to know what you're magnifying

silent sigh

ever since the death of my mother i've been faced with the question of, what is home?

losing walter forced me to further evaluate this notion.  as did buying a house, moving, getting a roommate, painting, buying new things.

ultimately i want a place that transcends four walls and a roof.  i want a haven, an inspiration, a safe house, a nest, a fortress, a dreamy place all my own that nurtures me through the storms.

this is not an apartment.  and i'm no longer in college.  the days of milk crates and mix matched thrift store furniture are a by gone era.

this is my house.  my home.  this is me.  and i have a 30 year mortgage to prove it.

but how do i create a home when i feel i'm missing a vital part?  how do i create a home when i have a roommate who to her this is a rental property? how do i make a place that is safe for me but respects her?

how do i do this without a family?

walter had become my little familial unit.  filling my apartment up with laughter and love and arguments-the way a family does. 

and my mom.  she is the one person i wanted to share this with more than anything.  because no one but a mother can reassure you.  convince you.  listen to you.  love you.

i'm just feeling very small and i'm missing the ones i loved the best.  and the dramatic start my new roommate and i got off to has not helped matters-but here is not the place to air that.

i just imagined that this move would be a cathartic reawaking.  a must needed shaking up and rearranging of my life.

little did i know it would come with its own baggage.

and that i would be left standing here empty handed shaking my head at the damage that can be done with words. 

A pointed out that it won't always be this way.  that the sadness that accompanies all my major milestones will get better when i have a family of my own to celebrate with.

when i have a husband and children to fill the void. to spill out my happiness on.

i guess what i really want isn't so much the perfect house but the support of a loving frame work to build my life upon.

so that's why i have this blog i guess.  and while i don't know any of you, you've become part of my family.  listening to my horrible ramblings.  sharing.  and inviting me into part of your world.

and i have come to depend on my faithful girls to fill the hole my mom left.  because only a woman's ears are made for venting and crying and late night feel better sessions.

and i still have my extended family, and my work, and my hobbies.  and my beautiful email exchange with the parisian red head.

so i'm slowly knitting together a piece meal life to cover over the tears of this past year.

i just want all the stitches to be in place now.  and i don't want them be ripped out the way they were these past few days.

-the paper doll is getting a band aide and a glass of wine

who am i kidding this sucks

that's right internet i'm giving in.  i'm playing the, oh woe is me i'm a pitiful woman whose boyfriend broke up with her, card.

you wanna know why?  because it sucks internet.  it does.  and i tried to have a head held high attitude.  i tried to take the moral high road.  but really i just want him to hurt as much as i do.  i want him to come back and hold me while i cry.  i want him to come back and water my plants.

this sucks so much i've made a list of all it's suckiness-

1-all my house plants will now die the slow death of dehydration.  because he.  he was the one that so lovingly took care of them.

2-my clothes.  they are now going to rot with the stench of filth because i have no washer and dryer access.  the laundry mat?  been there done got chat up by the mexicans and one toothed men.  it is not the singles market i thought it was.  in fact.  no singles.  ever. 

3-now who's going to move all my crap?  couldn't he have just waited?  i mean we were so close to making it past the big house move.  what's a few more weeks of suffering between friends?  right?

4-i'm going to have to declare bankruptcy because now i have to shave, pluck my eyebrows, buy new clothes, keep myself manicured, and lose weight.  and this.  this is not cheap internet.  oh no he gets to resume dating with little financial out put.  me on the other hand-i suppose those yoga pants and t-shirts i've become a custom to aren't going to cut it in the dating world.  neither is the 15lbs of extra love i'm carrying around either.  a fee.  i should demand a break up fee to pay for all the crap i'm going to have to do to get back in top dating shape.

5-there was a number 5 internet i swear.  but i've forgotten it.  probably because i'm doing everything i can to erase all memory of the suckiness.

so let's recap.  i hate sundays.  and being broken up with sucks.

oh and also i can be a wee bit selfish and often displace my anger.  chances are i'm just really pissed because yesterday was mother's day but what fun would that list be?

1-i have no mother.

2-having no mother on mother's day sucks.

3-my plants are still going to die and i still have no mother.

see not nearly as funny internet.  so i'm sticking with my story.  i hate boys, this sucks, and i want to throw rocks at him.

-the paper doll has her arms crossed and is stamping her feet

why i won't be surprised when i'm 45 and living with my 6 cats

things have not been good internet.  not good at all.

i have no intention of playing out my domestic troubles over the internet so i've just sat on my hands while things crashed down around me.

when people are tired they are whiney.  when people are tired and hot they are crabby.  when they are tired and hot and hungry they are disgruntled.  when they are tired and hot and hungry and grieving well they are just down right impossible to put up with.

and me, i've been all of those things these past few weeks.  at first, the boyfriend rolled with it not blinking an eye when tears and screams and stomping feet occurred over the slightest injustice.  but his own patience withered and everything just came undone.

if i were one of those monkeys that picks lice off her mate i would pick so much and hard i'd draw blood.  taking a good thing to its extreme only to have my mate scamper off and find someone who doesn't pinch so hard.  then i'd be left riddled with lice and all alone up a tree.

damn it if i'm miserable then by golly so thou shalt be too.

and miserable thou hath been.

i also had pms.

when i was in high school and we were on the college hunt one of my friends visited a small girl's school where they had a china room.  the head mistress kept a key and if you ever felt the need to smash dishes she'd hand it over without the slightest judgment or question.  you'd excuse yourself to the basement where you'd pitch ceramic plates until your little heart was content.

you think they'd let me come over some time, cause i gotta a few things i wanna break glass about.

-the paper doll is trying to get her ducks in a row

shelter from the storm

it feels like home to me...that lyric has been rewinding itself and playing back in my mind all week.

it's a question i've lingered over.  tried to find answers to in cups of tea, glasses of wine, baths, and long rambling emails to friends.

at 23 i find myself in a place where nothing quite fits.  the pictures of my youth boxed up and put away.  the current hardwood floors of home potentially being swept for the last time.  truly the blankest slate i've ever seen spread out waiting for my chalked plan.

there has been much talk and goings on about me leaving.  leaving my current nest and striking out for another roof.  leaving my current job and finding my heart's work.  i've been reluctant to discuss it all here for fear of jinxing it.

and like poking a finger into a bee's hive this eminent move has stirred up in me things that bite and sting.  and i could not play those things out here in public.  could not have witnesses to my snapping, indecision, and crying.

i have become attached to this place.  not just it's walls or the lifestyle it affords.  there's comfort in the steady heart beat of my life. 

i haven't found all the answers.  still don't know whether it will be a right or a left.

but i do know a turn must be made.  because just sitting here immobile in this place is causing me to grow mold, become stagnant.  to lose me.

i don't know what all that means for this space.  but my mind isn't clear enough to wow you with my literary antics right now.

there are other things that need my attention. 

-the paper doll wishes to become a phoenix and fly far far away

finding home

oh internet it's a jumbled mess of confusion today and i don't have the words yet to tell you. 

i want to.  i do.  i need to write it out.  sort it out.  get my head on straight as my mother would say.

but i can't.  everything's upside down and i can't figure out how to right it.

can't put my finger on the exact spot that needs to be turned.

the weekend promises to be quiet spaces and girl movies (the boyfriend's out of town).  a much needed calm to sieve my thoughts through.

i hope then i'll have the words to tell you.  have a decision made.

-the paper doll doesn't know whether to make a right or a left

rituals

when i was little my mom said that when she passed on she wanted to be cremated and her ashes put in an oversized margarita glass.  we were also to hire a new orleans style band and parade down the street dancing.  (dad was to be put in our pockets and sprinkled on the field of his favorite football team, a task that might take more than one trip, my mother admonished as she demonstrated the preferred technique of distributing ashes undetected).  as a family we all agreed to this and before my parent's first trip out of the country she had the will drawn up.  i was to go live with my favorite aunt in the event of a plane crash.

but that was when she thought she would go after her t-totaler parents did.  that was when she thought i'd be an old mother of four with a borrowed from her sense of humor about such things and a family of my own to lean on.  that's when she thought she'd have more time.

she changed her mind at the last moment.  knowing her family needed more closure than a stack of ashes in a cup, and that nana couldn't stand to see her first born burned and scattered.

she wrote out the rituals she wanted preformed and secretly gave everyone a task.  even asking her young nieces and nephews to walk by their pawbearing daddies.

so that when we all came together to plan a service in her honor there was little work to be done.  each of us sharing the written instructions we had been given.  even in death my mother had to be the perfect hostess.  and what she planned without our knowledge was about what each one of us needed, it wasn't exactly the party she had dreamed of earlier but because she included something for each of us that made it all the more about her.  because if anything, that's the way she was forgetting her own needs for someone else's.

now i'm left to decide what my own rituals will be.  how will i honor her now that she's gone?

as a society we are ill equipped to deal with death.  don't know how to neatly pack it into our day planner.  how to usher it to school, and soccer practice, and tuck it in at night.  we just don't know where to pencil it in.

and as i struggle with what to keep and what to do, i realize how she lives in everything i do.  in the mums i plant in the fall because they were her favorite.  in the guest soap i have.  and the happy birthday banner i hang.  in the letters i write to her each month.  in the daily rituals i perform to keep her close.

and i realize in some small way each day is a loud clanging parade in her honor and i smile knowing that she got what she wanted after all. 

-the paper doll is smashing cymbals and banging gongs

conversation piece

"but it seems like your dad's the important one now."

i choked on my salsa and lowered my eyes.  crocodile tears spilling into my enchiladas. 

i could only stammer out a weak, " you can't understand you didn't have one house that you grew up in, you still have your parents, it's different."

i spent the rest of the meal chasing cheese around my plate and piling beans into stacks.  i couldn't look at him, couldn't speak, could only wonder if he may have had a point.

i know she's not in the wallpaper, or plates, or flower pillows.  i know keeping her clothes in the closet will not bring her into existence.  i know tearing down the house of my youth and putting it back together in a way that suits my father does not erase her. 

but damn if it isn't hard.

it's funny how the objects of our childhood cease being just things.  a blue plate with flowers is not just a blue plate with flowers.  and no we cannot take it down, or move it, or box it up.  it stays in the kitchen where it has been for 23 years because that's its home (as my mother would say).

that's our home with the pink and green flowers in the kitchen, and the sheep on the coffee table.  our home of three.  our home just the way she made it.  that's the place i scraped my knee, and here's the thing she brought back from alaska, and don't you remember when she put that there. 

but i know i have no claim.  cannot say those things out loud.  it's his house now.  not two not three.  just one.

one.  a number i didn't think i'd visit so early in life.  a lonely number i turn over in my mind.  and while i know my family's changed i just can't bear for the walls to go too.

can't stand to see the pictures, and trophies, and knickknacks, swept up and put away. 

can't stand the physical evidence our home is not what it use to be.  because when i look around and see the change i know it's more than a new color on the wall.

it's a new life.  and i'm not ready to box the old one up.

-the paper doll is unwrapping the packing tape

 

counting sheep

when i was a kid i believed, like most under the age of 8, that if they couldn't see me then i didn't exist.  this absence making me safe from the monsters under my bed.  those night prowlers couldn't snatch me away if the covers were pulled up over my head and i lay flat and still on my stomach, my six year old logic told me.    so, i would burrow down into the blankets and wait it out through the nite, little foot struggling to breathe in the crook of my arm, and my little pony sheets acting as my invisibility cloak.

now that i have grown i still like the blankets up to my ears, a habit much vexing to the boyfriend.  and when i burrow down my toes now hang off the end of the bed and little foot's neck is matted from years of hugs and can no longer bear the weight of his head.

yet now it is not the night prowlers i fear.  not the monster's under the bed or the shadows of trees.  what comes for me in the night is not something i can smoother out with cover no matter how high i pull the sheets.

i lay in the dark last night eyes open.  because now it is the darkness behind the eyes that keeps me awake.  the images and voices that appear when i shut my lids against the nite.

they say this is normal the gasping and turning, the sweating and crying and desperation.  her face flickering before me in my dreams.

the worst kind of dreams.  the dreams that arrest your sleep.  that snap your eyes open.  that seem sure and real.

she spoke to me last nite.  following me through REM into the waking hours.  i watched her body crumple before me and felt her weight as she toppled down on me.  i grabbed at air to stuff in her mouth.  and watched her die again and again.

my grown up body must find another way to coax sleep.  to keep the monsters at bay because this is the worst kind of remembering.

the powerlessness of thought that sleep affords.  that keeps me on my back, eyes wide open, monsters dancing in my own head.

-the paper doll is tangled in the sheets

almost

"i feel like cinderella."

"you look beautiful."  my aunt damping her eyes with her sleeve.

"if you don't mind me asking but what event is this for?" the curly haired sales woman raising her eyebrows.

a pause and a look.

"my mom's funeral." 

it wasn't the typical store exchange, i know, but neither was my mother.  and her death was no exception.

i put those clothes on today.  the first time since wearing them to her funeral. 

had the first desire to watch the recording of her memorial service, the first burst to spill it all out here. 

not just to remember her but to remember the whole thing.  the longs days and quick weeks before and after her death.

to acknowledge it and call it by name.

but my fingers are not ready to pick out the letters.  the cursor unwilling to pound out the whole story.  we never like messes and this story is a great big one.  the delete button acting as my bounty, quickly wiping away the spill. 

but i am hopeful, because for the first time i have looked it in the face and held my stare for just a moment.  a moment too short to get down on the page but a moment nonetheless.  and that's quite an accomplishment.

-the paper doll is holding her own

i'm back-kind of

hello internet it's me margaret.

yeah i know i haven't been up to snuff lately but the champagne and the aching depression have taken over my ability to form poorly punctuated run on sentences.

umm the birthday party that i was going all martha stewart over-total success.  if you measure success in empty wine bottles and broken glasses that is.

no seriously internet it was one hell of a party.  i'm glad i did it.  there will be pictures shortly because trust me i just can't do it justice with poetic devices.

the food was great, the cake eaten alone in bed was capable of inducing spontaneous orgasms, and having everyone at my house kept my blues at bay.  it was DEvine.

i of course was still in robe and undies when my dad showed up to take me out for a birthday lunch.  he wasn't surprise.  nor did he flinch at the destruction or the shrapnel of cake, party hat, and candle that littered every room of my apartment. (and yes internet it's all still there.  i will be giving tours at five.  see where wine glass two was broken.  this is where i tripped over my own feet.  and here is where we dropped the cake.  i just can't bring myself to wash away the good time we had.  that and i'm lazy.  and maybe if i leave them there long enough the smell will become so bad that the boyfriend will take pity on me and wash them himself.  did i tell you i served scallops?)

ok so back to when my dad showed up to take us to brunch:

i forced myself to down a froufrou ladies who lunch meal when all i really wanted was french fries dipped in grease and a coke.  because hello i was hung the hell over.  and really the only thing that cures that is grease and caffeine.  which was not on the specials menu at this restaurant internet.

then he whisked me off to the book festival where he purchased one signed by andy warhol pop art book.

let me say that again internet ONE SIGNED BY ANDY WARHOL POP ART BOOK.

all in all it was a fabulous birthday.

then it hit. 

monday was too dark for me to relive my birthday fete.  i couldn't even see well enough to get through my work day much less wow you with my shenanigans.

that's what i hate most about depression it slams your head against the concrete when you are least expecting it.

the only way i know how to describe the feeling is equating it to being like a child.  a child in a very adult world. 

a child who can't think like adults, who does not understand or can't concentrate or fully be apart of this adult world.

people talk to you but it's like slow motion only half of their words are in your vocabulary. 

and like kids do, you try.  you try to sit and understand and mimic their behavior because you want to be included.  you want to be a big girl. 

but you're not.  you really just want to sit and watch sesame street and think about big bird and drool on yourself.

but you can't because there's heat to be paid for and the damn apartment to be kept.  so you do the best you can.  you pull it together and you try to focus just enough to get through the day then you come home and crumble in front of the tv and cry into your boyfriend's shirt because that's really all you can do.

i just want to get back to that place where i give a damn.  where i can do the crossword puzzle and form an intelligent opinion about the state of nuclear affairs and the problems with society today.

hell i just want to be able to argue with the boyfriend when he stops channel surfing for the dog whisperer or the history channel's reenactment of global warming. 

i mean really internet-how much bad tv should i be subjected too just because i don't have the energy to put up a fight? 

-the paper doll apologizes for her lack of gusto (and any typos because i also don't have the energy for proof reading-get off my back at least you got a damn post)

SPT-the truth

the truth
Originally uploaded by belle papier.

my mom died at age 51 from ovarian cancer. 3 short months ago. leaving me motherless at 22.

i hate her for that. i hate that i have to get married and have children and grow old without her. i hate my job and my apartment and my life. i hate the way food tastes and the size of my ass and everyday that i have to get up and pretend to have it all together because i don't.

i'm stumbling through this and i have no idea what i'm doing and it terrifies me. it terrifies me to feel lost and alone and confused. and forever scares the hell out of me.

my mother is gone forever.

i feel out of control and hurt and angry. and i am not holding it together. i'm not happy at work i'm not happy at play i'm not happy alone. i don't sleep. i don't paint. i don't go out. i am not doing well. do you hear that? I AM NOT DOING WELL.

and i'm tired of having to take care of everyone else. tired of being the mature one of keeping everyone intact. tired of crying in my car. i just want to fall apart. crumble. run away and start over. i want to forget my family and my responsibilities. i want to think only of me. to be selfish.

i want to tear down walls and repaint and quit my job. quit smiling. quit pretending. quit crying.

this is me internet. naked raw me.

i hate my mother for having cancer. i hate her for dying. and i hate myself for not being able to do anything damn thing about it.

that's the truth.

-the paper doll is blowing her nose

there's no crying in baseball

actually, tom hanks, apparently there IS crying in baseball.  and in washing the dishes, and ordering a pizza, and driving, and coming back from a weekend away and trying to decide what to do with the boyfriend, and watching football. 

tom fucking hanks you were wrong-there's crying in everything.

yeah that's basically how i spent my weekend-crying. 

now i've always been a bit of a teary eyed girl-but damn if they were charging for the water i've dispelled lately they would be very rich indeed.

sometimes i think about the end of that chicklet book the ya-ya sisterhood* when she gives her a crystal dish with some fancy name to catch her tears in.  it's all very moving and in the movie they squeeze out pearl sized droplets of tears  and nary is there a speck of mucous.

not the case in real life internet.  you can forget mascara.  unless of course you're going for that whole-yeah kiss is the best band ever-rock on-look.

frozen spoons, tea bags, warm washcloths, miracle eye cream,  yeah none of it internet erases that i just spent the whole nite with a bottle of wine and a brazilian lover look.  AND I DIDN'T spend the nite with a bottle of wine and a brazilian man internet. 

no i spent it with snot and drool and sobs and a very sweet man who was contorting a kleenex into various shapes instead of my body.

my nite nothing like the up all nite look i'm rocking at work today. 

in fact i can't tell you how many coworkers said-hey so what did you do last nite? huh? wink and nod.

i even found myself lying at one point just because the truth sounded so lame.

-the paper doll needs a mason jar to hold her salty emissions

*i'm actually quite well read and some what of oh, a snob about books.  look i'm from the south i was at the beach.  i've read ulysses ok so shut up.