I fold up the bed I meticulously created for her. I gather her clothes, dressing her in her favorite dress. Her hair is a mess, but I do my best to run my fingers through and pull it back into a ponytail.
Today I say goodbye. It is just a doll and yet, it feels like so much more. She was my childhood doll, the one I held when I was afraid; the one who kept me company at night or when I hid in the closet. She shared my dark secrets with me and her eyes recall more than I ever will.
I have felt discomfort since reuniting with her on Saturday. I had been hoping she would bring healing to the child inside, who is desperate for connection with her past. Last night, I tried to fix her hair and I removed her clothes to put on a new dress. There is blood on her.
I don’t remember the blood but the blood triggered a string of flashbacks. Now I am shaky when I see the doll because I recall just how much of my darkness and shame she was privy to. All of a sudden her sweet face looks demonic and her body feels violated.
I must say goodbye to her. But I say goodbye to more than just her. I’m not sure I can verbalize it just yet. My inner child is crying out and is desperate for her doll, but I must find a different way to soothe her. This doll is too painful. And yet, letting go is painful; my inner child feels I am abandoning her like I am abandoning the doll.
… And I might be desperately trying to do just that.
Her jacket is on and I give her a hug. It’s time to go to a new home. Stay safe, sweetheart. I love you.