As of 4:17 this morning, I am thirty years old. I still sleep with my teddy bear. My mom bought him for me when I was born, and I slept with him and a blanket she had crocheted. Despite many attempts to tear them away from me, I slept with both until I was twenty years old when my ex moved in with me. That was a hard thing to give up, but was also a terribly embarrassing habit.

In 2005 I had a ‘mental breakdown’ and spent a week in the behavioral health unit (read: looney bin lol!) of our local hospital. On day two, my mom brought Teddy with her on her visit. It was one of the loneliest and most frightening times of my life, yet my dear stuffed friend didn’t judge me and didn’t hold it against me for ditching him for my ex.

Returning home was almost equally as frightening as being admitted to the hospital, and I slept with Teddy for a good six months after my return before he went to the closet.

When my ex and I started having severe problems, Teddy was again glad to comfort me. When my ex started traveling for work, staying gone for weeks or months at a time, Teddy was there to step up and take his place. When I kicked my ex out last July, Teddy was GLAD TO SEE HIM GO!