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.