I Don't Want To Go

17/12/2005

Don’t want to go to the ball. Just want to stay here. Perhaps I have a social phobia. Everyone else is so excited about the ball. What is wrong with me? Embarrassed to be myself because it means I have to be different. But I want to be that way. I’ll force myself to choose a dress and a mask anyway – perhaps that will get me in the spirit of things.

I’ve found a beautiful red dress. It is made of the finest silk and has tiny green flowers embroidered around the bottom. It’s pagan. It’s feminine. Beautiful. There’s a label on the inside of the dress. It says ‘social butterfly’. What a promise. Don’t think I’ll bother trying it on.

What a fantastic collection of artwork these masks make. I like that one. It represents distortion and retardation. Reminds me of my insides. Yes I like that one. It would reveal me rather than hide me. A pretty face is deceiving. In the place where my people come from an individual is judged on her looks. This creates a whole lot of complication for everybody, really.

One of the travelers said how beautiful the Sheik’s wife is and how much the Sheik adores her. It would be ice to be loved for who you are. Does the Sheik really know his wife? Does she know who she is?

I’m going to tell the others that I’m not coming. What will be the price of that? It will take that bit longer for me to fit in with them. And I must also forgo a ride on the magic carpet. I had so wished to do this. Being truthful is not easy but surely is more rewarding.

I want to stay here in The House of Solitude occupied by a Hermit, Imogen Crest, who welcomes guests. The tree of hearts. Fragrant colours for the soul. Green is for the heart. I smell apples, cinnamon and cream. A fresh heart, warm and rich. Pink is for connection. So so beautiful. So delicate. So pretty. So feminine. I am soothed. Healed. I will take my time here.

Imogen Crest, I will be quiet whilst the others are gone. You will not even know I am around.