What the world sees versus who I am are different things. And let me tell you – I’ve been a muse, and a faerie, and a goddamn goddess on a sandcastle pedestal (waves of reality and reaction washed it away). I’m none of those. And all of those. And more than you think.
You see a silly, ditzy faerie girl. “Aw look at her wings and her elf ears! Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes slide to the side as she smiles with subtle saccharine syrup. What a free spirit with all those tattoos and that nose ring and those mini skirts! She’s quite clumsy, because her head is always in the clouds. What a dreamy creature, sleeping on petals and candy confections…” Versus: me. I don’t fault you for this, as this is mostly true. I do wear faerie wings and elf ears to feel more like me. I would say I am a free spirit, clumsy, and ditzy. My head is in the clouds. I love tattoos and speaking to animals and trees (better company than most humans, surely). I am sentimental, and I wear my heart on my sleeve. But I’m not Tinkerbell. Beneath the flowers and the tulle I am steel and armor. I haven’t always been – I had to learn to harness flame and iron and make it my own. Have you never heard of Mab and Titania? The Wild Hunt? Kelpies, Boggarts, Banshees and Goblins? Fey are wild, powerful, and dangerous – and you better believe I am too.
You see a crazy woman! “Oh my god! She’s bipolar and an alcoholic and a witch? And she writes about all that stuff? What a freak! I wouldn’t want to see her when she was unhinged, based on her writing. Imagine if she was mad at you… she’d probably cast some kind of weird spell on you! Or write about you in her poetry!” Versus: me. Yes, I have bipolar disorder and I’m a recovering alcoholic. I do tend to write about ex lovers, grief and sobriety. But I rarely write about just anyone. I write about the people who broke me so completely that I had to become something new within the demolition. I also write about the people who helped me build myself again, brick by brick, petal by petal. As for being bipolar – it’s a battle, but one I’ve been fighting (and winning) for many years. The same goes for alcoholism. I’ve been clean and sober for 11 years, and I’m proud as hell of that fact. Do others see me as someone who’d keep them in chains? Wrapping the helpless in iron and diamonds so that they could never escape? HA! I don’t want anyone who does not want me – there’s the door, see yourself out. There are others who would pick me wildflowers and wrap themselves around me until the sun rose. There are others with whom I could share my poetry on a day when the rain was kind and the thunder loud. There are others I can shower with gifts and baked goods and grins. This isn’t from a place of conceit – I know people who would enjoy being my friend / lover / fae creature fantasy ally. I don’t need anyone’s half ass attempts at love, whether romantic love or something also. Also, it was always the men who tried to claim me… they were the ones who wrapped me in diamonds and chains – not the other way around.
You see a little love goddess, handmaiden of Aphrodite! A deity on a pedestal. “Love must be a fun game to her! She’s always writing about falling in love and lovers. I wonder if she does rituals with roses like fallen snow and blood like a benediction? I know she’s helped others in their love ventures. See the men who wrote her poetry and songs? How wonderful to inspire art. It must be so easy.” Versus: me. Do you have any idea how many times my heart has been broken? No, not only broken – slammed on a concrete floor, ripped to pieces, roasted over a crackling cackling fire, and eaten as a delicacy. My writing is not about dozens, but about the very few warriors who captured my wild mustang love and tamed it. I dip my toe into the wild marshes of nostalgia and allow myself to go under. It feels like drowning – but I have a foothold, easy access to the surface and clean air. There is no peril there. It’s one thing to recall the wildfire passions and miserable monsoon of grief – it’s another to fall into that Venus flytrap again. I might be willing to. Maybe. If you see me as I am, all of me, and don’t turn away. I was put on a marble podium, a statue of what they thought I should be: a perfect icon of whimsical musings and red lips, cooking meals and massaging tired arms, heaping lovers with cookies and delicate kisses. No missteps would be tolerated. But for all my elfin grin and butterfly appendages, I am only human. I cry, grieve, feel agony and wonder. I make mistakes, but I own up to them. I’m learning and healing and growing. I’ll never be perfect, though. I’ll never be a paragon of sensuality and manic-pixie-dream girl typecasts. And… honestly, I like that. I don’t want – or expect – perfection, either.
Glimpses into the real Lis: I do not cast love spells or hexes. My favorite movie is Newsies and I’ve watched it maybe a million times. My favorite author is Francesca Lia Block, my patron saint of the written word. I adore love, but it scares me. Venus and Cernunnos are my patron goddess and god, and I have a faerie guide. If you couldn’t tell, I believe in faeries. I hate cooking but I love baking. I prefer oatmeal raisin cookies to chocolate chip. Halloween is my favorite holiday. I have 10 tattoos. Losing my dad was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Getting sober was the best. I read a romance novel every night before bed. I believe in soulmates and twin flames. I cry over sweet commercials and trailers. I love horror movies but I scream and jump when watching them. I was a really awkward kid and sometimes I can still feel like the insecure little girl who was bullied quite mercilessly. I’ve always been obsessed with romance. In the summer the only thing I want to do is be in the pool. In the fall the only thing I want to do is kick up leaves, drink apple cider and feel witchy. In the winter the only thing I want to do is curl up and wait until spring. In the spring the only thing I want to do is smell the flowers and make happy sounds at the shoots of grass and the budding trees. Sunflowers, peonies and snapdragons are my favorite flowers. Sometimes I’m afraid to be vulnerable and so I run away. Pink is my favorite color (for now). Jasmine is my favorite scent. Grimm makes my world a better place (all animals do, honestly). I like to sit under trees and imagine I can hear their voice. I want to know everything about everyone.
Elisabeth Writing 