There was definitely a….theme to the presents I got in the 90s and early y2k for birthday presents. And while I liked them, I got so many that it was getting out of hand. Too many.
Every year, from family friends, classmates, family, I’d get two things:
Pajamas, and journals.
Usually limited too and lisa frank. Like nice ones, ones I wanted. I kept journals from age 7 to 22 ish (even though I wasn’t fully literate until after age 8), and who doesn’t like cozy pajamas.
But no one talked about mental health back then, certainly not mental health of children. And clearly enough people saw, conciously or subconciously, that something was wrong.
I did need to curl up in cozy pajamas and write about what hurt.
But I also needed someone to just hug me and tell me it was going to be ok.
That I wasn’t so alone in this world.
Laughs and Lobotomies 