A Doll's Journal.

"Prologue"

"You're a delicate creature"
"You're so precious and innocent"
"You're such a doll."
"You're a doll."

I was normalised to remarks like this. For some unusual reason that I had not yet discovered, people always treated me like that. They continuously appraised me as if I was some kind of child or pet, and coddled over me. Despite me being a sixteen year old. Even the people who had tormented and gossiped about me would occasionally murmur "Awwwww." Especially other girls, younger or older than me.

Honestly, it disturbed me. I'd never receive compliments that I was sexy, pretty or gorgeous (not that I think I am). Instead I'd be called a doll, a creature, or precious. Someone even said I was exactly like one of those porcelain dolls. Similar to a creature, it compelled me to flee and hide. Plenty of people didn't even view me as human. And I had no clue to why.

When people got to know me, or learn about me, this type of treatment would get substantially worse. They would stare at me, clearly amused by my demeanour as I would twiddle my pale fingers over my bangs and adjusted my step. Basically watching me being shy, awkward and self-conscious. Many found it adorable, which would result in me behaving even more uncomfortable. I'd keep my chin low and cast my eyes downwards, attempting as hard as I could to stay invisible. I was an emotional thing, which became clear to others when I started tearing up once in class when a boy snapped a bracelet my cousin's grandmother had made specifically for me. A great number of people in class were furious at him. It was unexpected. Sometimes I was unnoticeable, then sometimes people would instinctively help or protect me. Some of them held sympathy for me. Majority of them made me a piece of their amusement and something to be played with.

It was pathetic. I was pathetic. I still am pathetic. There was a side of me that loathed my feebleness and wanted to show others how fierce, full of force I was. How I could be a graceful and strong woman. Despite this, when I met their expectant gazes and little smirks with my wide-eyed expression, it made me shrivel up like a snail inside it's shell.

One of the only things I was knowledgeable and in gifted in was being empathetic around my so called friends, and supporting them. The wails of dumped girlfriends, forgotten traumas and arguments was forced upon me, while they whispered to me all their secrets of themselves and other people. Multiple ridiculous relationships that wouldn't last longer than a week. With soft tiny sighs, I attempted to make them feel peaceful which would naturally work. The favour was never returned. The smiles of pure gratitude and many unspoken thank you's was enough for me to continue aiding them, despite never gaining the same actions back. I spoke to nobody about my secrets or the reason for my tears. I would always weep alone, within the white walls of depression and isolation of my room.

But I will tell you. A doll has her secrets and observes things that others don't even notice. A doll has her own stories to tell. In the end, maybe you'll view me as a monster more than a doll. You may possibly even see me as human, because that is what I am.