My Bunny

To some, it may seem silly or even childish. Why does a nineteen year old love a stuffed animal so much? Honestly, just writing that previous sentence made me hurt inside. I don’t see bunny as that anymore. She’s alive. She’s my best friend and she makes me feel less lonely and less afraid of the world. When I’m alone in my dorm, I don’t feel as lonely because I know she’s there with me. I also have sensory issues. I like the feeling of soft things; my family knows this-- for birthdays/gifts, I always get fuzzy socks or blankets or pajamas or sweaters because that’s what I love. For me, touch is very important. My fingers always have to be moving-- if I’m not picking at them or biting them then I’m playing with my hair or picking at something else. Having something soft to cradle between my fingers helps with my sensory needs. Holding bunny, who’s so soft, helps me a lot. That’s also why I sleep best when she’s brushed and soft. Not only is touch important but pressure is too. I sleep with various blankets on me because the weight of it helps me sleep. That’s also why I have to sleep with bunny hugged towards my chest. My chin rests on her head, her head and back pressured into my chest, my arms around her little body, my fingers coated in her fur. I love her for how she makes me feel-- safe, secure, less lonely, less sad. During panic attacks, hugging her helps me calm down. There have been times where my panic attacks have been so bad that I had the urge to hurt myself but I didn’t because Bunny helped me stay in touch with the world and made me feel less lonely and more loved. People who judge me or don’t understand this part of me don’t belong in my life. There’s something so touching about knowing people love Bunny just as I do and treat her the way I want her to be treated because it shows me that people understand my need for her and understand how without her, I would probably be drowning. It means they listen when I talk and they understand my needs.