I don't often tell people that I have a chronic fear of dolls. That's partly because they will find it funny and chase me with them, and partly because it seems so normal to me. Of course I'm scared of dolls. Aren't you? No? Really? What about mannequins and statues? Surely? No? Crap.
People ask me "Did you have a bad experience with a doll as a child?"
The answer is no. I didn't go near dolls as a child. I didn't have any dolls. I think I've literally been scared of them since I was born.
And after 22 years of doll-fearing life on planet earth I was alerted to some info about pediaphobia. At last I have a name to put to my fear. And it's actually a
phobia which is much more official and slightly less pansy-ish than just plain fear.
Pediaphobia basically means you have a fear of things that represent a human life-form, but aren't human. Interestingly it can also include fear of children... not sure how that works.
On the topic of pediaphobia, I read this:
Many parents want their children, especially little girls, to love dolls. They may become distressed if their child screams or cries when a doll is presented. It reminded me of several painful memories. Allow me to share.
Situation OneIt was my 5th Birthday, and we lived in Ireland. My best friend came around to my house even tho she lived about an hour away which was a long trip and I was very excited. Our mothers were talking downstairs by the front door when my friend came running up the stairs to me and handed over the birthday present, all wrapped up.
She was all beaming and shiny eyed and clearly pleased with herself.
I unwrapped the red paper and this is what I saw.
If you are having trouble seeing this as scary, then I guess you don't have pediaphobia. My heart was pounding when I drew this picture.
Naturally I screamed. I mean I really really screamed. I felt like I had been electrocuted with fear and panic and the doll was going to get me any second. The only option was to hurl the doll with its floppy rag arms down the stairs. It landed with a sickening thump at the feet of my best friend's mother.
That was when I shrieked "I HATE DOLLS!!" by way of explanation.
My mum was mortified. Her mum was mortified. My friend was in tears.
I was just glad to have survived.
Situation Two
I went to stay the night at my cousin's house in Wellington. Oh man I could not wait! We were going to stay up late and have midnight feasts from the lollies we had been saving up all week and make fluro 'icing' to put on winebiscuits. We were going to build forts and horror-houses and play shops and ride bikes around the yard and watch Star Wars and eat junk food.
At bedtime my favourite cousin was on the top bunk and I was on the bottom bunk. I think we had finished most of our midnight feast and were about to go to sleep.
That was when I noticed a strange shape looming in the darkness over my bed. I couldn't quite figure out what it was. It was moving very slowly closer and closer down towards me.
Then I heard a giggle from the top bunk and realised with sheer terror and panic what I was seeing:
Yep, my nasty cousin was lowering an ancient china doll down over my bed! It's face was mutilated and I'm pretty sure it was wearing an old lacey nightgown. It must have been at least 80 years old. A dead baby who is 80 years old. How can that not be repulsive?
My cousin totally had the advantage being in the top bunk. I knew I should have fought her for it.
Situation 3
I was probably about 8 years old when my aunty gave me a barbie for my birthday that she posted to my house. She actually called me up later that day to ask if I liked dolls and was the present ok?
I was a shockingly contientious and polite child and I actually heard myself say "Um, Yep, I like dolls."
I think I may have even lied and said that I had some barbie dolls already. I didn't want to hurt her feelings!
I actually managed to get the doll out of the box and since I had just breached a moral barrier to say that the present was very nice thank you very much, I made myself attempt to play with it.
It took me a long time to figure out what to do with it. A barbie doesnt do much. I had a truckload of stuffed animals that I could cuddle and they were all friends with each other so they didn't need much entertaining except I had to make sure to kiss them all before bed so that none of them felt left out.
But I didn't know what to do about this strange stick-like lady-visitor. I was pretty sure she didn't have any feelings.
If she did have feelings, they were probably evil ones. She was probably plotting to kill me. I caught her looking at me a lot.
I started keeping barbie in a box under my bed and before I went to bed at night I would check to make sure she hadn't got out of the box. Sometimes I would wake up in the night fearful and have to turn the light on to check she wasn't creeping up under my duvet with her creepy little scratchy hands.
Eventually I figured out that there was one fun thing about barbie - she had clothes. I liked clothes. And I like making families. What if barbie had kids? She would be happier and less likely to crawl into my mouth and choke me while I slept.
I saved up my pocket money and bought her a son and a daughter. They weren't as scary as barbie except when you squeezed their heads and then the heads deflated and took ages to go back to their normal shape.
Obviously, I was not the one squeezing their heads, but I had friends who liked to.
Which leads me to the other perk about barbie was that everyone had barbies. Barbies suddenly because crucial to my social life. What would my friends play with if I had no barbies? They wouldn't want to come round to my house anymore! So I made sure I had a handful of barbies.
But as soon as my friends left to go home, I would perform the hasty ritual of putting the barbies back in the box, without touching their heads, and making sure they were all face down. Then I would close the box tightly and shove it back under the bed.
The worst part was when a friend was like "Can you find the pink shoe?" and I'd say "it's in the box somewhere" and then I'd be forced to rumage through the box trying to find it.
When I say "rumage" I mean gingerly pick around, because I didn't want to accidentally touch one of their heads which were punctured with tufts of synthetic hair. Usually I had to tip all the barbies out of the box so that I could look through the accesories without my gag-reflex being activated.
The other worst part was when my friends wanted to eat snacks and play barbies at the same time.
"Lets eat somewhere else" I'd say
"No lets just eat here! Then we don't need to stop playing!"
So I would pretend everything was A-Okay, and we would sit in my room with a plate of crackers. I would take one obligatory nibble and then be unable to swallow, and the cracker would get left on the carpet or on my bed. I couldn't eat with those dolls. And if I did go to the kitchen to eat, I felt the need to wash the uncleanness off my hands.
Anyway, the only time the barbies really came out was when friends were around.
A year later I was cleaning my room (which by then I was sharing with my 4 year old brother) and as I reached under the bed for stray objects I saw my barbies legs and thought, that's wierd, I don't remember leaving her there.
So I reached in to carefully pull her out and my heart skipped a panicked beat as I realised there was something very wrong with Barbie.
She had no head.
I immediately dropped her and began a frantic search (with my eyes) for her head because I didn't want it just roaming free in my room. What if I found it under my pillow?
Eventually I saw a tuft of yellow under my brother's bed at the very back.
I was sickened and appalled and I had to get my mum to retrieve the head, which could not be attached back onto the body.
I was very upset that my brother had broken my doll. Not because I cared about the Barbie, but because I felt traumatised and violated from having to see a dismembered body in my own room.
Mum made it up to me by buying me a brand new Barbie.
Fig 1.4 I will win. 
to this:
