I have a stuffed wolf named Skippy. He has been my best friend for over a decade. I had a blanket until I was 16. Then I thought God told me that if I threw my blanket away, he would save the soul of a very messed up girl I knew. So I threw it away. Its still hard for me to talk about it. I feel like I threw away my best friend over what was probably a manic episode. In those days, I thought the more pain I felt the happier everyone else was. So I was always willing to do things that caused me pain. I thought of myself as existing only to experience suffering. I consider losing that blanket an indirect casualty of my abuse, but now I have Skippy. He reminds me that even though some happy things are lost forever, sometimes new happy things can come along.
Sorry, didn't mean to get so heavy.
"As long as the child within is not allowed to become aware of what happened to him or her, a part of his or her emotional life will remain frozen . . . all appeals to love, solidarity, and compassion will be useless."
-- Alice Miller