Growing up as an only child in a foreign country with an absent father and severely depressed mother I learned to surround myself with love the best way I could. I constructed my own family with my stuffed animals. You’d think it would have been something I’d outgrow in my twenties but there’s something to be said for having someone, even if they are in part fictional, by your side whenever you need them.
Some people are pet people. The only pets I ever had were hamsters: Chip in elementary school and Pooky in college and although it was never proven, I somehow feel at least indirectly responsible for their deaths. I’m an only child and by nature selfish. Maintaining my own diet, exercise, grooming and living quarters is high maintenance enough without factoring another being’s welfare into the picture. Therefore, I think it’s in everyone’s best interest, for the sake of animal kind and whatever chance I still have of getting into heaven, that I remain a non-pet person.
I have my bear.
Growing up as an only child in a foreign country with an absent father and severely depressed mother I learned to surround myself with love the best way I could. I constructed my own family with my stuffed animals. They each had their own unique personalities, preferences, pecking order and cute cartoon voices. One day when I broke the television set my mother put all but one of my stuffed animals in cabinets too high for me to reach. It was one of the worst days of my young life. That coupled with the fact that the disturbance I’d caused led my mother to get drunk, piss off my Dad and I witnessed their first physical fight. I had only my Mickey Mouse to cry on and I told him everything. Growing up in an Asian society there were some things you couldn’t tell anyone else, accept my animals. They only spoke to me and could be trusted.
Hussein Bear was a gift from my high school sweetheart, given to me right before we left for colleges separated by the Atlantic Ocean. When he gave him to me outside of Toys’R’Us he told me it was so I’d have someone to talk to and cry on because now he would be too far away for all the hours we spent on late night phone calls. I took it to heart and even though our relationship never made it past orientation, the bear stayed.
You’d think it would have been something I’d outgrow in my twenties. Granted I don’t talk to any of my other animals, but Hussein Bear and I sleep together every night (provided another man’s not present!) and like his predecessors, I tell him everything. When there’s a fire alarm I grab him first before reaching for other replaceable items like my passport and jewelry, and when I travel he comes in my carry-on bag. Maybe that makes me worse than the Crazy Cat Lady, but there’s something to be said for having someone, even if they are in part fictional, by your side whenever you need them.
The truth is he was the only thing consistently present as I went through the most excruciating points of my life, times so painful - mentally and physically, that I thought I would die. He saw me scarf down and barf up a half a dozen bagels only to do it another four times and pass out from the pain. He saw me do countless lines of cocaine by myself and then whimper as I threw the rest of the baggy into the toilet trying to deny the addict in me. And those are just the things I will tell you about. At the end of those days and night, like every other, I would curl up with him in my arms. I would cry, we would talk and somehow I would survive. Just like I did the night I broke the television. The night I thought would never become morning. There have been so many more nights like that since then.
Today, Hussein and I watched as my dream job slipped through my fingers. A job that was so made for me I felt destined for it. When I didn’t hear back from them I slumped into bed for the rest of the afternoon. You could say I’m lucky to have such the luxury, but there’s nothing more that I want in the world than to feel motivated to wake up full of energy to live each moment fully. Right now there doesn’t seem to be a moment worth fulfilling, just emptiness. This time I cried out loud because I found myself burrowed in my bed with my bear and I didn’t know how to crawl out.
“It’s like I need this good chunk of something. I need a whole, big chunk of good thing to happen to me to make all this suffering worth it. Like a good man, cool friend, great job or stabilized parent . . . just one good enough thing to make it all worth getting up and living.”
“I’m so sorry” his voice soft, whispering. His eyes, while made of the same plastic they’ve always been, today appeared worried, the fur above his brow creased in concern. “I’m so sorry you’re sad. I’m not sorry you didn’t get the job. I’m just sorry that not getting the job made you so sad. I’m just sorry you’re sad.”
And that was enough to have it all make sense. I realized that it wasn’t about the job itself as much as what not getting the job was doing to my outlook on life. The voice of reason was somewhere inside of me, how could it not be after everything I’ve been through? I just needed a stuffed teddy bear to get it out of me.
Call me the Crazy Bear Lady if you want. There’s some secret habit you’re hiding to yourself that I probably wouldn’t be as critical of. Hussein Bear helps me reach inside to find the answers I can’t see because I’m too caught up with being me. He’s often the voice of reason when I can’t figure out how. Psychologists use puppets in therapy to get at deep-seated emotions, both with children and adults. I suppose I’ve just built an emotional attachment to mine. When you can’t have a pet, have a bear. It may seem like the strangest of relationships between you and your subconscious but it’s worked for me.
