Hundred Acre Woods

Christmases and birthdays, where gifts are presented. I couldn't get comfortable with the idea of presents bc it would mean accepting things I hated, despised and wanted no part of. New clothes, please no. New toys...dolls, no. Get me science experiments, planes, trains and cars I can paint and put together myself. Anything but the gifts that remind me of my own prison. But I'd never be able to say this to my parents, grandparents or siblings. These were not things a girl should play with, or imagine with. The things I wanted were for boys.

The ones in my head fought each other over how to react. She shouted at me to disguise my loathing with a smile. To hide my tears with hugs of "gratitude" for the presents my family had worked hard to get for me. He was ready for me to breakdown. The lump in our throats from the suspense of what we would be pretending to love was enormous. Hard to swallow.

I wasn't easy to shop for, they'd said. But I couldn't say what I really wanted, so I'd lie and cover it with thank yous and I love yous. But this was one of my favorites. Winnie the Pooh. I had loved watching this as a child but couldn't help also wanting to be Christopher Robin. This gift not only brought me one of my childhood heroes but I felt a strange resemblance to myself. At least, that's how I saw him. I could see myself as a small boy wishing for the honey that would balance my life and the thoughts I had running through my head. Always searching but ending up stuck with my head thru a hole. This stuffed animal gave me some semblance of peace. I had Pooh. A male character I could call mine. Suddenly, I was Christopher Robin, with a place of my own. Somewhere to escape to. My very own Pooh. My hundred acre woods.