An interesting POV idea I have for a chapter of my book is the world from my teddy bear. Brownie, the bear my Grandma and Grandpa Miller gave me when I was born, was the primary witness to my abuse. I remember watching my father rape me in the plastic reflection of his eyes. What all those eyes have seen…
I was mad at Brownie when I started healing. I was mad at him as a child at times, too. How could he let that happen to me? Why didn’t he go get help? What kind of bear was he?! Questions I wanted to ask every adult in my life, but didn’t have the self-awareness to notice.
Sleep is hard to come by, despite my complete exhaustion. My mind piles up these days with less time to myself. I hollow out corners of the hours, taking bathroom breaks simply to have a closed door between myself and the pressing world. I’m not cut out for normality. I’m leaning heavier on friends. I am unable to give as much, and I have been taking from so many for so long. There were years of giving in New Orleans, though…it’ll cycle back around. I won’t feel this way forever.
I still sleep with Brownie. Right now I have a man in my bed, and next to him, where I’ll return after this piece, is my teddy bear. He looks a little worse for wear, but still together. Major surgery was conducted about a year ago, before the move to Puerto Rico. Brownie got all patched and stitched, ready to live out of our backpacks for a while. The crush of his fur and the threadbare spots make me think that the Skin Horse would approve.
I am real, too. I am loved. I am loved so much that I can almost forgive all the love I missed beforehand. Almost. And it’s not that there isn’t enough love to forgive. It’s that some things are unforgivable. If anyone will be forgiven in regard to my past, I get to go first.