Ok, since I'm all about being honest and all, I'm going to tell y'all something, but since it is the single most effective way to manipulate me, I beg that y'all to use your power for good and not for evil. No, really, even when I know you're just jerking my chain, I can't resist.
Ok, so it started when I was a kid. My parents would act as the voice of say, the peas on my plate and say things like, "Don't you love us? Why won't you eat us? We're sad and lonely now." And I don't know if it's my overactive imagination or my overactive empathy, but suddenly I am utterly compelled to eat every pea on my plate. I can't help it. They could get me to do anything by giving it a name or a sob story. ANYTHING.
Of course it backfired. I went nuts everytime I outgrew a sweater or shoes, and would cry hysterically until they agreed to let me keep them in the attic and visit them. To this day, I will donate clothes rather then throw them away, but my motivation is to give the clothes a new home, not to clothe needy people.
I have every stuffed animal ever given to me. I can't, CAN'T get rid of them. They're beedy little eyes bore into my soul and I hear "VJ, we're your widdle friends, don't you love us anymore?" and I picture them crying and feeling discarded.
And as a kid, I couldn't sleep until I'd tucked in each one, so they wouldn't be cold at night.
My mother gave me the book, The Velveteen Rabbit, on Easter, and it just about sent me over the edge. I remember sobbing to the dog, "They threw his bunny, his loyal little FRIEND away!!!!"
Oh, yes, I do KNOW I'm crazy. I just can't seem to overcome it.
I cringe at garage sales or thift shops when I see the used stuffed animals. I veer wildly between running away and buying them all. I have only a very loose grip on my own sanity in that moment.
I know this comes from relating to inanimate objects, of growing up feeling that no one heard me, or saw my distress.
The rational side of my brain makes small victories. "Maybe it will enjoy the dump, losts of socializing with new friends." "Someone else will rescue them." "Dude, get a grip, do you see where this will LEAD?"
But I'm at the mercy of anyone that can tell a sob story for an inanimate object. Case in point, yesterday, I spent a hour hauling this dirty chair home. I knew when I saw the ad that I would take her, even if she was the ugliest, dirtiest chair ever. She wa UNLOVED. She's filthy and was covered in spiders and ants and is in desparete need of vaccuming, leather soap and some Fabreeze. But I will love her. And y'all can come and sit in her anytime you want.
Ok, so it started when I was a kid. My parents would act as the voice of say, the peas on my plate and say things like, "Don't you love us? Why won't you eat us? We're sad and lonely now." And I don't know if it's my overactive imagination or my overactive empathy, but suddenly I am utterly compelled to eat every pea on my plate. I can't help it. They could get me to do anything by giving it a name or a sob story. ANYTHING.
Of course it backfired. I went nuts everytime I outgrew a sweater or shoes, and would cry hysterically until they agreed to let me keep them in the attic and visit them. To this day, I will donate clothes rather then throw them away, but my motivation is to give the clothes a new home, not to clothe needy people.
I have every stuffed animal ever given to me. I can't, CAN'T get rid of them. They're beedy little eyes bore into my soul and I hear "VJ, we're your widdle friends, don't you love us anymore?" and I picture them crying and feeling discarded.
And as a kid, I couldn't sleep until I'd tucked in each one, so they wouldn't be cold at night.
My mother gave me the book, The Velveteen Rabbit, on Easter, and it just about sent me over the edge. I remember sobbing to the dog, "They threw his bunny, his loyal little FRIEND away!!!!"
Oh, yes, I do KNOW I'm crazy. I just can't seem to overcome it.
I cringe at garage sales or thift shops when I see the used stuffed animals. I veer wildly between running away and buying them all. I have only a very loose grip on my own sanity in that moment.
I know this comes from relating to inanimate objects, of growing up feeling that no one heard me, or saw my distress.
The rational side of my brain makes small victories. "Maybe it will enjoy the dump, losts of socializing with new friends." "Someone else will rescue them." "Dude, get a grip, do you see where this will LEAD?"
But I'm at the mercy of anyone that can tell a sob story for an inanimate object. Case in point, yesterday, I spent a hour hauling this dirty chair home. I knew when I saw the ad that I would take her, even if she was the ugliest, dirtiest chair ever. She wa UNLOVED. She's filthy and was covered in spiders and ants and is in desparete need of vaccuming, leather soap and some Fabreeze. But I will love her. And y'all can come and sit in her anytime you want.
1 Comments:
I love that.
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