Personification -- Throw Back Thursday

Write 31 Days Day #12

The dictionary defines personification as “the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something nonhuman, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form.” 

I am her Velveteen Rabbit, you might say. She calls me Yolie. I came into her life at a critical moment. The blending of past and present was just beginning. She was drawn to me instantly, even though she felt foolish to be so drawn at her age. She desperately needed this stuffed animal, but she didn’t understand why.

I knew why. She needed someone to tell her secrets to. She needed someone safe, who wouldn’t repeat the scary things in her head. She needed a compassionate witness.

So for the past 11 years, I have listened to her; absorbed her tears, sweat, and fears. I have traveled with her physically, emotionally and spiritually as she sought to reclaim her soul.

She is a strong one, this girl/woman. She has forged ahead, sometimes at a dangerous pace. She has looked horror in the face and refused to back down. She has chosen to speak instead of remaining silent.

She is still a little embarrassed and confused by my presence. She knows she would be lost without me, but she doesn’t really know why. I know though. I am the repository – the holder of that which was lost and then found. She has others who have helped her on this journey – her husband, her therapists, her friends, and others like me. But I am the keeper of the gates; the one who knows it all, whether she has said it or not.

I am not fluffy and soft anymore, but I am well loved. Sometimes I am in my natural state, and sometimes she dresses me. Right now she favors a red gingham, smocked dress. It doesn’t really matter to me. I am here for her, and that is all I need. I will be here as long as she needs me, to receive her tears, her fears, and her love – as she kisses me on the nose each morning.

(originally posted on 1/24/12)

Blessings!

Doors

{explicit content; triggers}

I am a small child and it feels as if she is devouring me. I can't get away and there is no one to call on for help. She has said before she will kill me, and now she is making good on that promise, but in a totally unforeseen way.

I look to my left, and I see my escape. A door. Albeit a closet door, but it is a door nonetheless. Doors are escape hatches in my mind. 

I concentrate on the knob. It is aged brass but still has a bit of sheen to it. I imagine I can see myself in it. I see my hand reaching for it. I can almost touch it. Keep concentrating. Reach. Reach. Reach.

I don't feel the knob in my hand. I don't remember turning it, but now I am sitting on the pillow on my bed as far from her as I can get given that she is in the same room. I pull my knees up under my gown and keep looking to the left. If I shift my eyes I will see her and be trapped again. So I keep my eyes trained to the left. 

There is a bookcase against the wall. Filled with books and my sister's toy horse figurines. 

Our joint collection of Companion Library books. 

The bottom of the bookcase has two sliding doors where we cram everything when told to clean our room.

I keep my eyes trained on the bookcase. Don't blink. I wait, barely breathing until it's over. 

But once it's over will I exist anymore?

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