Dedicated to Penelope and Lorna, I’m sorry…
Everyone has heard of Penelope Violet: singer, actress, icon. Her extraordinary career began following her performance on a TV singing competition. Overnight she went from busking on street corners to basking in the spotlight. Record agencies clamoured to represent her, and following her award-winning debut movie appearance, she was inundated with offers from some of the world’s most famous directors.
She had fans, fame, fortune; the only way to go was up. Her charm and glamour were exceeded only by her enthusiasm for her work, juggling demanding filming schedules alongside recording her debut album ‘Unseelie’, and the sold-out global tour following its release.
She was adored by millions around the globe. She could do no wrong. Then suddenly, she was gone, vanished without a trace. No one knew what happened to her, or why. How does a household name like Penelope Violet just disappear?
Easy.
She was never real.
I struggled to make friends as a child. People inevitably left me for others or ostracised me for being annoying. I always found myself desperately clinging onto the fringes of friend groups, never understanding what I was doing wrong. I wanted people to love me but found most struggled to tolerate me. I’ve always felt lonely, like there was a deep empty pit inside me. In the past I’ve clung to people who repeatedly hurt me, out of fear of that loneliness. And the euphoric high from the moments I don’t feel alone burns through relationships faster than I know how to make them.
I’m now (at 20) being assessed for ASD, a diagnosis which would provide a lot of clarity about these struggles. I made up Penelope in First School. I loved performing, and despite being tone-deaf and having two left feet, I was always good at pretending to be someone else. Penelope represented my dreams and ambitions. She was an escape, the person I wished I could be.
Instead of being a kid playing alone in my room, because the other children in the village didn’t like me much, I could be a superstar. I didn’t need them; I was Penelope Violet. Everyone adored her, admired her. No one told her to shut up, or said that she was weird and annoying, like they so often did to me. I suppose in this way, Penelope also represented my insecurities, because as perfect as she was, she was pretend, and I could never really be her.
I worked on Penelope for a couple of years. I drew her constantly, wrote out filming schedules and designed her movie costumes. I think I put more effort into her identity than my own.
In 2016 my family moved out of the house I grew up in. We had a massive clear-out beforehand, and I was brutal where my mum was sentimental – especially with my old drawings. Recently, I rediscovered the box of art, buried in the attic. I couldn’t remember what we had ended up keeping, but I was excited for the nostalgia of looking through it all. I was also excited to see Penelope, who was still so clear in my mind after over a decade.
Except she was gone.
I emptied the box, went through every single drawing, and couldn’t find a single trace of her. Apparently in 2016, I felt she wasn’t important enough to save. There are so many old schoolbooks and drawings made in class, but no Penelope, who I so meticulously brought to life.
It broke my heart.
Penelope represented who I had wanted to be. She was there when I was alone, and her persona helped me get through a lot. In return she was thrown away like she was worthless, like my dreams and ambitions were worthless, like that lonely child was worthless.
I don’t want to lose her; she was too important to me. So, I’m bringing her back to give her the respect she deserves, as a manifestation of my childhood hopes and insecurities. I want to apologise. I didn’t value Penelope when I had her, and I didn’t value what she represented. I want to take little Lorna in my arms and hug her until she feels less alone. I want to protect her from the world. I want to tell her she’s perfect and wonderful and her creativity is important, no matter what society tells her.
I want to tell her all that, because it’s what I still need to hear sometimes, and because I wish the world could apologise to everyone it has wronged.
Lorna C. Hill 2022