When Treesa first proposed the idea of creating a blog for us, her doll collection, I immediately knew that I wanted to be involved. I felt that writing about my past experiences would be therapeutic; since Treesa is actually my second human...owner (for lack of a better word) and I came to her with a lot of emotional baggage. You see, being a Generations Of Dreams Barbie doll, I always knew that I had been manufactured for adult collectors. I left the factory fully expecting that I would either remain in my box forever, or that I would be displayed on a shelf or in a curio cabinet. While some might see this as a sad, lonely existence, for many collector dolls it is seen as the ideal situation. Our mentality is often such that we not only want to remain in untouched mint condition; we actually pity those dolls that are subjected to the rigors of children's playtime. Those same playline dolls often pity us collector dolls for the lack of freedom that comes with being 'imprisoned' in cardboard or behind glass, but that as they say is another story.
It never even occurred to me that 'I' might end up in the hands of a child. I had assumed that my fifty dollar retail price would discourage any parent from purchasing me for their youngster as a plaything. I have learned since then to never assume anything. To go from being a display piece to a child's toy is a difficult transition, both mentally and physically. I was still in the process of making that transition when I was unexpectedly donated, given away because I was no longer wanted.
I found myself at a thrift store, stuffed in a clear plastic bag with a $2.90 price tag. My hair was a matted mess. My bodice was missing a snap and my skirt was stained with marker ink and smeared with glitter glue. Dozens of other bagged dolls, many of them nude, were hanging on the nearby shelf pegs. As I peered out at my surroundings I tried not to think about who would buy me or where I would end up next. Those thoughts were too frightening in their uncertainty to contemplate. You see, it wasn't my matted hair or my stained skirt that bothered me the most. It was losing any sense of stability. When I first left the factory I was sure that I knew exactly what my future held. But life is full of the unexpected, curves and bumps in the road that can't always be anticipated or prepared for. I was adrift with nothing left to anchor me, nothing left to hold on to.
That's when Treesa found me. She picked up my bag, studied me carefully, and then hung me back on the peg. I thought that that was the last I would see of her. But before she left the store she came back, picked me up again, and took me with her to the register. She told me later that she liked the fabric that was used for my skirt, and that she just couldn't pass me up.
My life with Treesa has been mostly uneventful, which is a welcome change from my previous situation. I've met some interesting dolls in the collection, and Treesa has done her best to make me feel at home. The application of a fine toothed comb has greatly improved my hair, though of course it couldn't work miracles. I've also been redressed until the snap on my issue clothing can be repaired. That could take time, since Treesa hasn't yet learned how to sew. She is also unsure if anything can be done about the glitter glue or the ink stains, but the worst of the damage is located near the back of the skirt where it's less noticeable.
Because my outfit was already damaged, Treesa decided that she could make her own small 'alteration' with a clear conscience. If I had been in mint condition, I'm sure she wouldn't have had the nerve to do it. She would have felt too guilty about ruining my secondary market value. But after taking my bedraggled state into consideration, Treesa made up her mind to remove the decorative patch from the top of my bodice. Apparently she didn't like the way it looked. The patch wasn't sewn all the way around; it was merely tacked on with thread in a few places. The strategic use of a seam ripper soon took care of that. Treesa plans to keep the patch and have me use it as a decorative handkerchief.
The name Geena was chosen for me both as an homage to actress Geena Davis and as a corrupted abbreviation of the word 'generations', as in Generations Of Dreams Barbie. These sorts of tenuous mental associations are not at all unusual for Treesa, whether she's naming a fashion doll or an original character for her latest fanfiction story. However, not all of the dolls in the collection have names with hidden meaning. Suzanne is named Suzanne simply because she 'looked like a Suzanne'. At least, that's what Suzanne says. It's not that I think she would lie about something so trivial, but the fact that Treesa has an aunt named Susan may have also been an influence. Or as they say it could be entirely coincidental.
I would say that we've come to the end of my story, but my life now feels less like an ending and more like a new beginning. And while I can't say that writing out this narrative has brought me complete peace of mind, I do feel as though I've been able to leave a little more of my fear and uncertainty behind. To anyone out there reading this, thank you for listening.