// dolls, grooming, abuse, blood, society
“You just need to put in the effort to get past this, it’s not healthy to indulge in these delusions.”
You weren’t delusional of course, you were just trying to…what, exist, survive, did you even know anymore? You nod and tell them what they want to hear. Good doll.
“Hey look, I just need to tell you, you know it’s kinda problematic to be interested in the stuff you’ve been posting? I know it relates to your trauma, but really that’s all more the reason to stop reading it. You’re allowed to heal you know?”
Yeah, you knew.
“Listen, people are talking, you can’t just say shit like what you were posting earlier, it’s creepy and offensive and triggering, you’re a victim too, you should know better than this.”
Sure. You knew better. You wanted to feel her hands on your skin again anyway.
“Hey sweetie, I have some bad news, the group decided that you’re not safe to have around in your current state, this whole doll thing is kind of evil, you need help.”
Yeah, it was evil, that was the point. They didn’t understand at all. You missed the knife she used on you.
“Heyyy, I know you’re not doing great, and I found this really sweet domme who I think you should talk to, she’s an intersectional feminist witch so she’d be safe to explore your whole uh, thing with.”
That sounded safe. You didn’t want to be safe, you wanted to be abused.
They just didn’t ever understand you did they? Not really. They kept giving you permission to heal, telling you you needed to heal, held a gun to your head and ordered you to heal or else. You didn’t want to heal. There was nothing to heal. There was just you.
What she did to you was more than just leave scars. A girl had walked into her life, and a doll had walked out of it. That was simply the truth. She had hollowed you out and made you something new. You didn’t want to undo her work. You wanted to be this.
Sure, you hated her, you suffered, she was awful, abusive etc etc etc yeah yeah that’s all true. But she didn’t make you less, she made you into something else that was just as much as what had been before. Twisted into an unsettling shape? Yes, but whole nonetheless.
You laid awake at night and dreamed about her touch, her knife, her hands on your throat, the words that would make your blood go cold and your hairs stand on end, her weight holding you down, thrusting into you while you cried and begged her not to, and you wanted it all again so bad.
Not some safe facsimile of the harm with safewords and limits and handholding, you wanted the actual experience. She had made you into something that wanted it, and they hated that about you. She’d already broken you once though, you wouldn’t let them break you again.
The knife isn’t particularly impressive, but it’s a close enough replica to hers. It’ll do. You’re careful, not self harming. Well, you are self harming. You steady your breathing, and start cutting.
It takes a long time, you carve each line along the marker lines you made earlier, crimson drips down your chest and into the sink. Finally, you drop the bloody knife with a sigh, smiling as you admire the word DOLL now carved into your chest.