Archeology of Truth (Trigger Warning)

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. THAT DAY. I have had the entire month until today with barely a tickle of my usual PTSD. I’ve had blatant fun. I am a bit fogged and distracted as I write this, drowning my sorrows in mental crap such as bad disney movies, not that there are good ones, kitty snugs, pizza, and talking to people important to me who aren’t traitorous liars. There. I said it.

Once upon a time in 1993, and well before, there was a girl who was lonely. She made a friend who was much like her. This friend was an orphan who lived with her grandmother, and despite being blatantly spoiled was one of the kindest people that the lonely girl had ever met. They played together. The rich girl even bought toys for the lonely girl, but they learned rapidly to leave them with the Rich Girl.

One day, the Rich Girl moved without getting to say goodbye. There were small things left over but as all the things that they had had together except a Best friend’s charm, a few of the prototypes of the miniature food I left behind and some clay as well as a tin of the uncured creations. This clay stays good forever unless you bake it.

Lonely girl was broken like the clay, left in pieces. Lonely girl was told that she had made up Rich Girl, and the proofs were lost.

 

Today, Lonely girl found the small tin of the creations. The proof. In it were the little charm, a small barbie toy, and a few other things. Too was the proof that Dolls belong in her life via some of the small things that she kept from Rose, another friend now lost to her. Lonely Girl is now Amazing Adult, but that does not mean she didn’t cry.

Infact, the clay that still remained anything was cured, and now there are artifacts of Lonely girl’s innocence before the abuse and rape broke her and nearly destroyed her. The cracks that remain of that pain and what was before do not make the entire person of Amazing Adult, but instead remind her of why she is glad to be an adult.

 

Yet still, she cries for the loss of her friend and the sweet things that cannot be published in a public forum for safety that were recollected.

 

Also, I have some Barbie Dream house stuff to paint black and dead all over. I am okay, I am just foggy and hurt.

mutli colored clay creations, mostly roses, from my childhood.

The Artifacts

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