Unsent Letter #3 - Sunday, 26 May 2003
I found one last letter from this set. Looking back at all of these they seem very self-pitying and wallowy, but do keep in mind that they were written within days after having tried to kill myself, and having failed. In a way I almost regret finding these and posting them, except that in a way it is helping to see them again and remember what frame of mind I was in. In doing this I hope never to find myself there again. The third letter:
If you've never read the Velveteen Rabbit, or if it's been so long that you remember it as a cute heartwarming story full of laughter and adventure, give it a read. Texts are available online, and there are more editions in print than I can count. My favorite imprint is the one with artwork by Donna Green. I get the feeling the book struck a chord with her.
Time was that book wouldn't have touched me. But more and more I identify myself with the rabbit as he's lying in the pile of rubbish, waiting to be burned. I find myself thinking back over happy times I've had, and they seem so far away sometimes, growing so pale with time. And I wonder: Of what use is it all if it all ends like this?
In the next paragraph in the book, the nursery magic Fairy comes to the rabbit, where he's lying broken and torn, and tells him that she comes to toys who have been loved, who are old and worn out, and who the children don't need any more, and takes them away to become Real.
The title of the painting from that page in the Donna Green edition is "I'm Here For You." I have a postcard of that painting with the title on the bottom. I look at it, and read that title a dozen or more times a day. Sometimes I cry when I see it. Because no fairy is coming for me.
Where I stop seeing myself in this story is that the Velveteen Rabbit was worn by the boy's love. But I'm worn by stresses and worries and abuse. I'm worn by a string of managers who do their best to keep me in a stressed state because I "perform better under those conditions." I'm worn because I'm a poor judge of my own abilities and actions, and need to rely on the input of the people around me. I'm worn because I don't know how to say, "I'm at my limit. Please help me." And when I do ask, I'm told no.
The nursery magic Fairy came for the Velveteen Rabbit because the boy's love had made him Real. There aren't fairies for rabbits who get worn out by time and hurt. No one plucks them from the rubbish heap. They're burned with the trash.
Cat Stevens wrote a song called "Trouble". I haven't heard it in years,and didn't really understand it the last time I did. But I never forgot the words:
Trouble
It's cold on the rubbish heap.
If you've never read the Velveteen Rabbit, or if it's been so long that you remember it as a cute heartwarming story full of laughter and adventure, give it a read. Texts are available online, and there are more editions in print than I can count. My favorite imprint is the one with artwork by Donna Green. I get the feeling the book struck a chord with her.
Time was that book wouldn't have touched me. But more and more I identify myself with the rabbit as he's lying in the pile of rubbish, waiting to be burned. I find myself thinking back over happy times I've had, and they seem so far away sometimes, growing so pale with time. And I wonder: Of what use is it all if it all ends like this?
In the next paragraph in the book, the nursery magic Fairy comes to the rabbit, where he's lying broken and torn, and tells him that she comes to toys who have been loved, who are old and worn out, and who the children don't need any more, and takes them away to become Real.
The title of the painting from that page in the Donna Green edition is "I'm Here For You." I have a postcard of that painting with the title on the bottom. I look at it, and read that title a dozen or more times a day. Sometimes I cry when I see it. Because no fairy is coming for me.
Where I stop seeing myself in this story is that the Velveteen Rabbit was worn by the boy's love. But I'm worn by stresses and worries and abuse. I'm worn by a string of managers who do their best to keep me in a stressed state because I "perform better under those conditions." I'm worn because I'm a poor judge of my own abilities and actions, and need to rely on the input of the people around me. I'm worn because I don't know how to say, "I'm at my limit. Please help me." And when I do ask, I'm told no.
The nursery magic Fairy came for the Velveteen Rabbit because the boy's love had made him Real. There aren't fairies for rabbits who get worn out by time and hurt. No one plucks them from the rubbish heap. They're burned with the trash.
Cat Stevens wrote a song called "Trouble". I haven't heard it in years,and didn't really understand it the last time I did. But I never forgot the words:
Trouble
Oh trouble can't you see
You have made me a wreck
Now won't you leave me in my misery
I've seen your eyes
and I can see death's disguise
Hangin' on me
Hangin' on me
It's cold on the rubbish heap.
posted by pencil at 10:33 AM
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