I just finished reading the biography of Dare Wright, the woman who photographed and wrote the Lonely Doll Books (see icon) called, The Secret WOrld of the Lonely Doll:The Search for Dare Wright by Jean Nathan and am left with a realization about myself. Dare Wright explored her own truamatic childhood in her books. She had a very self centered insecure mother who actually forbid her husband when they divorced to have any contact with Dare and also Dare was not to see her brother who had been living with his father since Dar's mother deemed fer brother Blaine not a good child since he was not docile like Dare. Dare did not get to see her brother from when she was six I think? till they were out of teens (I think in their twenties)I am fuzzy since I just absorbed the last two hundred pages in the course of this morning and afternoon. Dare had issues of abadonment. Her mother lived in a fairy tale land where they both created a world of their own. The reality was too much for her mother and Dare eventually without her mother subcummed into deterioration because she could not easily live in such a real world. Her mother Edidand her were very creative beings. Her mother was a famous portrait painter. She is the one who bought Edith who would become the star of the Lonely Doll Books. It is hard to believe such a world existed where the child and mother lived their own fairy tale existence. Dare had male suitors but she never could be intimate with them physically.
I sit here after reading this book...with some new realizations and they kinda make me feel sad. I the adult child...I the woman who has shelves full of dolls and action figures. I who used a doll her Aunt Irina gave her as the subject of a still life for art school who I used to portray my own personal pain.... I who do not feel I have ever grown up... I who feels like a child playing dressup in my sometimes more clingy and low cut clothes. Me who views intercourse with fear (more so tho cause someone really was rough with me). Me who has a hard time imagining myself with men who actually look their age that are my age... they look like they could be my father. I who looks still quite young. I am 36 but do not look it or feel it. I read books as a kid all about dolls. I loved them. I voraciously ate them up. I think I found the Lonely Doll book during this time. I may have been anywhere from 10-13 I can not remember. I was a lonely child. My imagination was my company and we had alot of adventures. I would sing songs I made up in my basement and record them. I would play the piano and make up pieces. I would read my Song Hits magazine and emote my lil heart out singing ballads by the current pop stars. I would make up lil skits and plays and do impressions. I would play elaborate games with my barbies in which they were victimized by men,,,sexually for I was fascinated with this for some reason.
I whose first lover wouldnt have sex with her.. I think that helped me regress even more being with my child lover who at 17 had no experience before me at all. Who was afraid to say I love you and would instead say I _ _ _ _ you. My need to feel loved was forever unfullfilled and I was always searching for reinforcement. I still am. I do not trust that I will not scare someone away. I spent my years eggshell walking for my mom trying hard to appease her and not encourage her wrath. Just like Dare I went along with what I had to to get my mom not to be mad at me and to feel loved by her.
I have spent so much of my life trying to please everyone to such a degree I have not always been true to myself. I am still tiptoing through glass tulips... I am like a doll... I watch and observe but can be played with and posed and have someone project onto me their needs and I can fullfill them by treating them golden by being golden. A child doll woman who still clings to her childhood things because they help her not be so scared of being an adult.
I dont think I can write anymore.. I have to get myself out of this head space ...its upsetting me and I have noone here to hold me or distract me. ,,,,