Just a dumb little post...
Sick Puppy
Registrant
About Max.
Max is my stuffed dog. I have had him since I was a very little boy. I named him after Max, the Grinch's dog, because I loved the movie "Grinch Night," and I felt bad for Max, always being negelected and abused and made to haul around the Grinch's big cart. I remember being excited that my stuffed dog had a "real dog's name."
It was one of the very few toys I was allowed to keep. Max went with me EVERYWHERE. I slept with him in my bed every single night until I was 18. I would even put him in my backpack and bring him to school and other places I went to. I adored him.
He went through everything with me... he was there for me to hug and cry on after I was beaten and bloody; he was there for me to take comfort in after I got back from one of those excursions my mother forced upon me. I would even take him with me, sometimes, to comfort myself while those things were being done to me.
He was with me through my painful childhood and through my troubled adolesence... I would carry him to high school every day in my red backpack. I wouldn't hug him openly in class because I was scared of being made fun of, or him being taken away, although I could get away with certain things because I was in Special Ed (for serious emotional problems.) Every now and then, though, I would reach into my bag and pet him.
When I went to prison at 18 I could not take Max with me. I missed him horribly through the first months but eventually he fell from my mind as I had worse things to worry about. When I got out at age 20 I no longer thought about Max, until I found him again in a box in the closet from when I had moved all my stuff to my uncle's. I took him out and hugged him tight and have kept him in my bed ever since.
Some of my friends over the years have taunted me or laughed at me but Max is an awesome friend. He doesn't talk or do anything except lie there but he's been through all my hardships and he never hurts me or abandons me. He's been through two decades of wear but he is still soft enough to hug.
Done with this post now... it's kinda stupid, I know. I just wanted to post something positive, and I was thinking about Max. I have him right here at the moment... he always makes me feel better.
Max is my stuffed dog. I have had him since I was a very little boy. I named him after Max, the Grinch's dog, because I loved the movie "Grinch Night," and I felt bad for Max, always being negelected and abused and made to haul around the Grinch's big cart. I remember being excited that my stuffed dog had a "real dog's name."
It was one of the very few toys I was allowed to keep. Max went with me EVERYWHERE. I slept with him in my bed every single night until I was 18. I would even put him in my backpack and bring him to school and other places I went to. I adored him.
He went through everything with me... he was there for me to hug and cry on after I was beaten and bloody; he was there for me to take comfort in after I got back from one of those excursions my mother forced upon me. I would even take him with me, sometimes, to comfort myself while those things were being done to me.
He was with me through my painful childhood and through my troubled adolesence... I would carry him to high school every day in my red backpack. I wouldn't hug him openly in class because I was scared of being made fun of, or him being taken away, although I could get away with certain things because I was in Special Ed (for serious emotional problems.) Every now and then, though, I would reach into my bag and pet him.
When I went to prison at 18 I could not take Max with me. I missed him horribly through the first months but eventually he fell from my mind as I had worse things to worry about. When I got out at age 20 I no longer thought about Max, until I found him again in a box in the closet from when I had moved all my stuff to my uncle's. I took him out and hugged him tight and have kept him in my bed ever since.
Some of my friends over the years have taunted me or laughed at me but Max is an awesome friend. He doesn't talk or do anything except lie there but he's been through all my hardships and he never hurts me or abandons me. He's been through two decades of wear but he is still soft enough to hug.
Done with this post now... it's kinda stupid, I know. I just wanted to post something positive, and I was thinking about Max. I have him right here at the moment... he always makes me feel better.
