Stuffed animals

I brought over here my childhood stuffed animals, my
old companions and best friends, to live with me again
(I’ve held onto them until now, some even since my
baby days) as a memento of a simpler time
because, although, in retrospect, I wasn’t fully
embraced for who I am by my parents, it still hurt
less than being looked at with disgust and constantly
rejected for who I am by the ones I love now,
without any meaningful explanation of why.
And it’s harrowing to admit that I would rather
return to that childhood than having to deal with my
current life. At least back then I didn’t realise
how much I was mistreated, for I knew no better.
All my dear stuffed animals are witnesses to that.
Curiously though, despite having no abetter
myself, when I played with my stuffies, it was always
playing at a big, happy family who berate
their children never did. Maybe I should start playing
with them again to at least in this way emulate
the intimacy of  relationships I don’t have.