Doll parts
Doll parts
Last night, I looked at pictures of myself. Its a usual thing to do, because I have to check and approve of all the pictures made at photoshoots, especially when they are done by an outside party. But I shouldn't have. They upset me.
It's happened before, and I could have seen it coming. I was in a worse state than the last time that it happened, and anyone could have predicted the effect they would have on me. But it's my job. I shouldn't run from my responsibilities. So I looked at them.
I stand and stare into the camera. On some pictures I try to look like a badass. On others I come across as more seductive than anything else. I wear weird clothes that show off my skin. With some editing, it would look even more smooth than it already did. I flipped the photopaper around with my fingers. My face still seemed to be staring at me. It was probably because of how tired I was.
I remember yawning deeply, getting up to get changed for the night, and returning to the desk to put my necklace on there. My eyes met my eyes again. I looked at them, judged them. I usually couldn't be bothered to feel any emotion when looking at myself. I try to be a professional. But when I do feel something, the only emotion present is anger. I couldn't understand why the people at the magazine had chosen these pictures. I looked like a complete idiot with the cap over my eyes or the weird pose I was standing in. I didn't even recognize myself anymore. I saw make up; I saw expensive clothes on my cheap body. Another picture revealed even more. Some parts of my tattoos. My fake smile, my fake lips, my fake jaw. I never did like pictures taken from the side.
I pressed my hands to my eyes, but doing so only reminded me of the shape of my head and how strange it felt to me.
The readers of the magazine would all be looking at me, judging the way I looked, noticing every appalling detail from my everchanging haircolor to my perfect fake teeth. I couldn't bear it. And when I remembered all the other media appearances I would be making the next couple of months, I felt sick to the stomach.
I know I am human. The nauseating feeling in my body proved it to me. But I only seem to be human when I'm alone, when nobody can see me. I am an object, a doll that can be put in an endless variety of positions, with all sorts of available outfits. They dress me up, they put me in front of a background, and I become the doll. I become G-Dragon.
And I knew I could do that well. I knew I was the best at it. I told myself that the thrill of performing was worth it. And deep down, I realized that it was. But what did it mean when I was by myself? It meant nothing. The doll only exists with an audience, and when it has none, it is dead.
He walked in; I could tell it was him even from my position underneath the blanket. I heard the distinct click of him locking the door from the inside. For safety. I understood that, but I didn't feel ready for him. Not right now.
He said my name. I ignored him, not fully aware of my hands clenching the covers. His big hand touched my head. It was warm and he my hair just like before. It made me feel all kinds of things. His voice is so deep that it sometimes seems to vibrate through my entire body. I felt the same then, as he sat down on the bed and pronounced my name again. I wanted him. I knew I did. I couldn't deny the way my body responded to him. I just couldn't look up. I couldn't face him. Not without GD. GD was not in me right now. I was an empty shell and I felt so sick I believed I could break when he touched me. He gently put his hand on my neck and I inhaled sharply, unable to control myself. He is stronger than me. He turned me around without much effort; with force. It made me shiver, but I couldn't tell whether it was out of fear or out of desire.
His hands were on the sides of my face. The broken pieces of my face, that had been assembled to fit the tastes of the mass market. I kept my eyes shut. My shame was too deep to face him. And I knew he was the same, to a certain degree. But he wasn't a doll. He had never been one. Perhaps I had been a doll from the outset. My fake lips trembled hopelessly when he touched them. Maybe they would finally rip themselves apart.
Monday, the 9th of September 2013
11:40 PM
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