The One about the Fairy . . .

Last week I posted a picture of my Christmas Sugarplum Fairy. All of you seemed interested in her story, so here's what I can tell you.

Last year my sister-in-law gave me this decorative sugarplum fairy, but I didn't get to use it until this year. 

That's the story. Not very exciting, I'll grant you, but that's about it.

Now why would my sister-in-law give me a fairy for Christmas? That's probably a better story.

Many years ago I developed a liking for fairies, especially those drawn by Cicely Mary Barker.  I couldn't really explain it, I just knew that their images made me happy and filled me with peace. My family accepted this and periodically bought me little fairy-themed items.

Over time I've come to understand that the fairies represented safety and protection to my child-mind. I had "memories" of fairies coming to me and helping me during some of the episodes of abuse. In particular, there is an episode involving the barn where I envisioned fairies watching over and protecting me until the abuse was over.

I used to be embarrassed by this affinity for fairies. I assume what I saw at that time was dragonflies flying over the hay, perhaps even in and out of the barn as the abuse took place, but in my child-mind they became fairies. Fairies sent there to care for me. To offer comfort, peace, and joy, and perhaps, distraction.

I have a lot of fairies in my house. In my bedroom, the bathroom, randomly placed around other rooms. And I have lots of dragonflies now as well. It's a way of honoring my status as a survivor, and a way to banish that unnecessary embarrassment that hounded me for years. We all find ways to survive the bad things.

There are worse ways than fairies.

imperfect prose on thursdays -- The Barn

(warning: adult content)

The air is hot and dense with humidity. I feel streams of sweat gliding down my face, my back, my belly. All the intense running has left me feeling wrung out, but with the humidity it is as if I have been left in a puddle of hot water. 

She beckons to me from the shade of the barn. The sweet smell of hay and grass drift from the cooler air inside the barn. Looming like the opening to a cavern, the barn door seems inviting. The light shifts as I walk into the shadow of the barn. It shifts again as I pass through the door. My eyes are temporarily blinded by the transition from bright sunshine to the colorless murk of the barn

The barn’s scent is its own -- the sweet smell of hay, the rank odor of manure, the metallic scent of rusted tools. As my eyes adjust, I see her by the side wall. I walk toward her. There is no warning. No lights or buzzers go off. The light and smells remain the same. And then the wrenching pain as she pulls my arm up behind my back, shoving me against the splintered barn wall. Somehow she has pinned me against the wall with my arm held in place by . . . what? There is pain, yes, but more there is fear. The blinding, sickening fear as I realize I have fallen for her tricks again. I begin to shrink. My head is being pushed in on itself as if by a vise. There will be no escape. There never is.

Carefully placed on an old, faded feed sack, she has laid out her implements like a surgeon’s table. I can’t focus, nor do I recognize all of the items I can barely make out. I know I have a choice. I can stay here and die, or I can release myself into the world outside of the barn. 

(photo from little house design)

The grass is green and golden. It is so tall that I am completely hidden by it as I sit down. On my way out of the barn I have stopped by the rain barrel. The blue and white metal dipper is hot in my sweating hand. I dip it into the top of the barrel filling the dipper with cool water. The water is sweet and cool on my mouth and tongue. It gushes over my lips and down the front of my dress, chilling me for a moment.

I stretch out in the undulating grass. No one can see me. I am completely surrounded by the rise and fall of the waves of grass. Overhead the sun blazes down on me and the sky is a perfect cornflower blue. Fairies and dragonflies bob and weave above me, soothing me into a relaxed state of serenity. I am safe and at ease here until she is finished with my body. Nothing and no one can harm me.

link up at imperfect prose on thursdays

Fairy Ring

the trees are tall and pale gray. they form a perfect enclosure with all the branches high in the sky to provide coverage without inducing claustrophobia. 

the ground is covered in patchy grass and moss. small roots crawl just under the surface. it is surprisingly level and smooth.

the sun slants through the trees from the west. day is not dying, but it is full grown. the air is quiet and sweet, with a pleasant breeze that begins to help the girl relax. 

she can breathe, relax. she is safe here. no one else comes to these trees. they are hers alone. she is enclosed and protected, and yet free to leave at a moment's notice. she can see danger coming from any direction.

she is far away enough from the chaos and potential danger, but close enough to hear if her mother (or father) calls for her. but they won't. this is her time of peace and quiet and safety. her port in a storm.

if she waits quietly, the fairies will come to her.

for more settings go to Write on Edge

RemembeRED -- The Barn

The air is hot and dense with humidity. I feel streams of sweat gliding down my face, my back, my belly. All the intense running has left me feeling wrung out, but with the humidity it is as if I have been left in a puddle of hot water. 

She beckons to me from the shade of the barn. The sweet smell of hay and grass drift from the cooler air inside the barn. Looming like the opening to a cavern, the barn door seems inviting. The light shifts as I walk into the shadow of the barn. It shifts again as I pass through the door. My eyes are temporarily blinded by the transition from bright sunshine to the colorless murk of the barn

The barn’s scent is its own -- the sweet smell of hay, the rank odor of manure, the metallic scent of rusted tools. As my eyes adjust, I see her by the side wall. I walk toward her. There is no warning. No lights or buzzers go off. The light and smells remain the same. And then the wrenching pain as she pulls my arm up behind my back, shoving me against the splintered barn wall. Somehow she has pinned me against the wall with my arm held in place by . . . what? There is pain, yes, but more there is fear. The blinding, sickening fear as I realize I have fallen for her tricks again. I begin to shrink. My head is being pushed in on itself as if by a vise. There will be no escape. There never is.

Carefully placed on an old, faded feed sack, she has laid out her implements like a surgeon’s table. I can’t focus, nor do I recognize all of the items I can barely make out. I know I have a choice. I can stay here and die, or I can release myself into the world outside of the barn. 

(photo from little house design)

The grass is green and golden. It is so tall that I am completely hidden by it as I sit down. On my way out of the barn I have stopped by the rain barrel. The blue and white metal dipper is hot in my sweating hand. I dip it into the top of the barrel filling the dipper with cool water. The water is sweet and cool on my mouth and tongue. It gushes over my lips and down the front of my dress, chilling me for a moment.

I stretch out in the undulating grass. No one can see me. I am completely surrounded by the rise and fall of the waves of grass. Overhead the sun blazes down on me and the sky is a perfect cornflower blue. Fairies and dragonflies bob and weave above me, soothing me into a relaxed state of serenity. I am safe and at ease here until she is finished with my body. Nothing and no one can harm me.

for more posts got to RemembeRED

Feel Good Friday -- December 10th

I have an affinity for fairies.

I have fairies in my bathroom.

I have fairies in my sewing/craft/office.

I even have fairies in my bedroom.

(What a great husband I have!)

It took me a long time to figure out what this fascination with fairies was all about.

One day I figured it out.

It's amazing how good things can come

 out of bad things.

To escape some of the bad stuff I went through as a kid, 

I would "imagine" myself away.

Sometimes I would go to an open field 

behind the barn at my cousin's house.

The grass would be high. 

The sun bright and warm.

Cicadas would be singing.

And I would see little people 

flying above me as I lay in the grass.

I was hidden from the bad stuff,

and the fairies would keep watch over me.

As time has passed I've come to realize

that they weren't fairies that I saw.

Most likely they were dragonflies.

So now I also have an affinity for dragonflies.

For more Feel Good Friday posts go to The Girl Next Door Grows Up.