Just Me and My Teddy Bear

Sometimes I have feelings of empty arms. Like I want to reach out and hug the air or something. I have felt the need to reach out and hold someone or something since before my breakdown of 2014, never knowing why. Now I know it was the desire to hold my Anastasia and Hanelore. I will never be able to do that in the earthly realm. There will never even be suitable substitute for that ever even. But I have found something that is the best that can be, for now. MY TEDDY BEAR!

 

The story of my teddy bear:

 I've had him for as long as I can remember. I am over 40 years old. So I know he is at least 35 years old. He had been in storage for quite a few years. I think there may be a metaphor coming... But I digress. On to how he came to be and why he is special. 

He was made by my great grandmother. I loved my great grandmother. I was very close to her. So I am sure he was made when I was real small. I do not recall her giving him to me. I am sure I would remember if I had been old enough. 

You can see he has a  major rip in his neck.

I should get that fixed before his head just pops off one these days while I am hugging him. How did he get that rip? On Christmas my mother and I got in a big fight. (We are working on things. Starting to bond. But there are ups and downs in that) I was frustrated. I felt like busting out of my skin. I was angry and frustrated. Grabbed the teddy bear by the legs and hit his head on the footboard of my bed. Then the seam at the neck popped open. There is also another seam or two that were there before the neck bust.

I know how to sew. Both hand and by machine. I used to love sewing. There are many things I used to love doing. But now I just don't feel like doing them anymore. A part of me doesn't want to stitch him back. He is broken, like me. We are somewhat matched, I suppose. I want to be unbroken, but I don't know how to be. The teddy bear can be fixed up with a few stitches. But there really is no healing formula for hurting people.

He doesn't have a name either. I suppose another match to me. Obviously I have a name. But sometimes I feel like I don't. As though I am just an anonymous figure getting through life, without an identity.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with anxiety. No feelings. Neither sad, happy, mad or angry. Just there. Sometimes I will read from the Bible or a Psalm or two. Pray. But there are times when reading just seems a chore, or I am unable to open my mouth to pray. Those are the times where I just hold the teddy bear and fall back asleep. In fact I was holding him in front of the computer, while contemplating writing. Set him on the desk. Now I am holding him again as I finish writing this post.