I’m still here, kind of. Thanks to those of you who’ve emailed me – I’m ok, really, just not blogging as much, for a host of reasons. One is that I’ve been insanely busy with my new job, trying to get into the gym again, and trying to go out and enjoy the world a bit now that spring has sprung. Another is that I’m making an effort not to spend quite so much time on the Interwebs reading things that only upset me. But I’m still here, I’m doing well, and I read your blogs as I can.
Therapy this week was a little odd, firstly because I was struck down by some nasty virus and spent my time flopping about on the couch, trying not to feel so hideous. I probably should have cancelled, but I always feel bad doing that.
Anyway, the Wonder Therapist and I were talking about a friend who has been distant lately. We’ve been friends almost our whole lives – she’s my rock, my glitter, she’s everything – or was, until recently.
The Wonder Therapist asked about our childhood friendship, and I recalled playing with these dolls at my friend’s place. I had forgotten all about beloved “Velvet” – a gorgeous doll with long blonde hair that you could make longer or shorter using buttons on her back and belly. The hair was glorious – you could brush it, plait it, style it anyway, and it was shiny and soft. Plus she had blue eyes and this beautiful (in the eyes of a six year old) purple dress with a white sash. And there was a matching white dress with lavender flowers and lavender sash. I soooooo loved Velvet.
I was thinking about Velvet afterwards, and how much I loved her – how I wanted hair like hers, and bright blue eyes, and a purple dress, even when I was little. And then I got a bit sad, thinking that even then I *knew*I wasn’t good enough. So wrong. So sad and wrong that some f***ed up parent made me feel like that as a little kid.
Coincidentally the Wonder Therapist shared this little poem with me a few weeks ago.
This Be The Verse – Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.