Love/Hate Relationships with inanimate objects, and why I think I need therapy.

Yesterday was Valentines day, and my boyfriend got me a giant stuffed bear. Although this is a very sweet gesture and I'm glad he was thinking of me, there is a problem with this.

I have a love/hate relationship with stuffed animals. I really, really, truly, love them. If I could have a little room in my house that was full of stuffed animals that I could just stay in every day, then I would be there at all times no questions asked. I would read them stories and eat with them, I would probably even sleep there! But here's the problem....
I DON'T HAVE ROOM FOR THEM. :(((((

I already have a million care bears. Shelves full of care bears, and two VERY GIANT CARE BEARS. That's not all of the stuffed animals I have, I also keep a plethora of hello kitty stuffed animals, build a bear's and whatever other stuffed toys I can get my hands on. Let's back up now- I am an adult (not really, but I'm eighteen, so good enough.), and most people think it's a little odd to keep so many stuffed animals at this age. So it's nearly impossible to host a decent get-together with friends without keeping my door locked because so I'm ashamed of my stuffed-toy-hoarding habits and also because I want to be accepted by people that aren't inanimate.
Any time I try to get rid of a stuffed animal or give them away, I feel like I'm selling a human on the black market and I'm not even being paid for it. I can just hear their little voices saying "Don't get rid of me... I love you... I've always loved you. I'm adorable and I've watched you sleep for the past 4 years. We have a special bond that no one else can have. Please don't give me away. :("

I also have a hard time keeping them in storage. I don't like it much when they're on the floor at night. I feel like I've been a bad mommy and I'm forcing my children to sleep on the floor while I sleep in a nice warm bed. I like it when they have a special place they can stay and keep watch for demon sleep-interrupters. Stuffed animals are my guardian angels.

I also feel bad for things that aren't necessarily personified. I always try to eat everything on my plate because I feel like those foods will feel left out if they're not eaten. I feel like this is life disrupting because I always eat way too much, or too little in fear of over eating. I'm okay with not over-eating because what I don't eat from a big dinner will just be left-overs and they can just enjoy their vacation in the arctic fridge to be eaten the next day.

I feel bad for things that are reduced price or are in the clearance section. It's like telling someone "Hey, I told you that you were worth this much. My bad, everybody hates you and I want to get rid of you, so now you're worth this much." But it's okay little 4 dollar cup set, I think you're lovely. If I wasn't poor and had a greater need for cups, I'd buy you and every other cup set in the clearance section. Maybe if your makers had given you a floral design, others would have liked you. (But I think you're just perfect the way you are. :)

Even though I do pity things that aren't alive, I also hold a certain amount of disdain for other objects that aren't alive. When I was little, my mother and others in my family seemed to think that I loved china dolls with every fiber of my being. I had at least six just sitting on my clothes dresser. These people was very, very mistaken.

Since china dolls are more realistic and it's probably more acceptable to be attached to those because most of them take an actual HUMAN form, I hated those creepy stupid dolls that would sit there and watch you sleep. I still do hate them.

I remember when I was young, I used to sit around thinking of ways to get rid of them. I think once, I actually punched one in the face and broke it so I'd have an excuse to have it taken out of my room. (I blamed the destruction of the doll on the doll itself. Seeing as this is, my story wasn't exactly believable and so this tactic did not garner much sympathy.) I think my mom actually glued the demon's face back together, making the doll six times creepier because its face now looked like Gaara from the Naruto Series. And it was wearing a pink dress. It was like the grudge living in my room. Except now the doll actually had a grudge against me and it wanted blood for my crimes.

I don't remember what happened to grudge doll. All of my old china dolls are now sitting in my parent's shed. The sad thing is, I'm ridiculously scared of being in or near that shed at all because I know that if the dolls know I'm there, they'll come to life and shoot me with their new handy-dandy guns that they've had five to six years in solitude to make.

I'm pretty sure I have some psychological problems. I shouldn't feel this way about toys... or food.