The Blanket of Pockets

I wrote this story while on my healing journey.

• Anthology

								
The Blanket of Pockets
Once upon a time there lived a little girl
With curly hair and a smile
And a wish for everyone to love her.
This little girl lived in a big house
Where it was usually kept very dark.
No sunshine had shown through dirty windows.
Other houses looked so beautiful to her.
There was no soot on their windows.
‘Why is there on mine’, asked herself.
Lots of people, lots of noises surrounded her everywhere.
There were few places the girl could find
Quiet and peacefulness, except in
Reading her books under a stairway.
On very few occasions the sun peeked
Out to shed a bit of light.
Over the soot filled walls was a little shadow of light.
And oh, even though the light was so small, the little girl
Would tuck it in her memory to be savored.
For love was to her beyond belief.
Nor could she treasure or keep this belief.
But, even in the midst of the darkest day
And dampest night,
The little girl could only pull on that
Glance of light she’d seen over the walls.
Pulling it close to her head to feel some love.
But the nights were cruel and cold.
The little girl grew colder and colder,
As the dampness soaked her bones.
As the wild wind whipped her face, she began to cry silently.
Her parents so busy in a world of their own,
They didn’t care her clothes were torn.
And she was afraid to tell them.
Might they get angry?
For, you see, she was very afraid of their anger.
Like many parents, they were very demanding,
And not the least bit sympathetic to the little girl’s needs.
For like many parents, they were,
Needy with their demands
Commanding that the little girl do this, do that.
Act this way, not that way.
Why they even demanded the little girl
To feel and think their way.
The little girl soon became aware that if she had a feeling,
The parents would say, “Hum, that’s all wrong!
You know nothing little one.”
They proceeded to tell her what they saw as right.
Her mother would shout, “Your just a little girl.
Of course, you can’t feel that way.
Why, it’s just your imagination.”
The little girl was soon confused.
And very, very afraid of the outer world
Was not what it seemed to be
According to her feelings,
Her perceptions and thoughts.
So quickly she learned that it
Wasn’t safe to tell people
What she saw, what she felt, and
What she knew to be true.
She began keeping it all inside.
The little girl discovered a lonelier place
As she faced the world around her.
Despite the loneliness inside her
She didn’t die
She fought to survive the dark world around her.
She found a tattered blanket of the right size,
For her little shaking body.
A blanket that had tattered pockets
In which she could hide under safely.
Underneath the blanket it was a warn and safe place.
One side dark blue, the other side red.
Wrapped in this tattered blanket, the little girl knew
she was safe.
The dark blue blanket disguised her feelings well
So that her parents didn’t punish her.
The little girl kept the tattered blanket a secret
Wrapping it around her body
To keep her warm from the evil around her.
The tattered blanket had big and little pockets.
All contained on the dark blue side.
Nobody but the little girl knew of the tattered
blanket.
And like all little girls, she would collect things
and hide them away
Until even she forgot about them.
When something made her unhappy,
A harsh word, a look of contempt, She stuffed it in one of her pockets
To keep it hidden from the outer world.
Or when she felt red of rage
Wanting to lash out and hurt those
Who hurt her, that too she’d
Take and stuff in a pocket.
Soon, the big and little pockets were filled.
When alone, the little girl created a playmate.
That only she knew she had.
To play with, to talk to in secret.
When around others, she’d put her playmate
In her pocket of the blanket for future use.
The little girl was quite clever because all on her own
She had her true feelings.
Only keeping them hidden from the outer world.
A long time passed, and the little girl soon began to grow
As all little girls do.
In time, she felt her stirrings of life –
Of creation
As buds began to bloom on the trees
After sleeping through the cold snow.
Yet no one –
Neither the mother, nor the father.
No one knew of all these new feelings stirring inside her.
The little girl learned to guard that too.
And hide in a deep, deep pocket herself.
No one knew of the stirrings inside her-
The creation of life.
All they knew was the sad little girl.
Known as the sad little girl,
She kept this as her name
So that everyone would know her.
Even as an adult
All lumpy inside with her stuffed blanket pockets
This little girl – as an adult
Was fraying at the edges of the blanket.
Then once there came a day after leaving her home.
She walked to the bathroom mirror and
Saw herself as the little sad girl.
Lately she’d found it hard to move,
More difficulty breathing, feeling smothered
And choking – feeling constricted tightly inside.
She looked back in the mirror to be sure
That ropes didn’t bind her wrists.
Soon everything began to press inside her
And frightened her very much.
In the mirror she saw how little she was
With her blanket by her side,
And how big she had grown.
How zippers could barely stay zipped.
How her sleeves were so long for her arms
Her hands never to be exposed.
Most of all, she saw how tightly the blanket was
wrapped around her.
Tight very tightly and secure.
It was so heavy; it slowed her down wearing it,
But she had quite forgotten the stuffed pockets
Crammed with this and crammed with that.
Now being the little girl of sadness
She had never taken the blanket off.
Yet hadn’t this been the very thing that saved her life.
In the time of bitter cold?
At first, she just wished the pain away,
The tightness of her chest cavity would disappear,
That somehow the blanket would enlarge itself.
The young woman was now very confused
Not knowing the difference in the reflections.
Still the woman of warmth spoke,
“It will take a long time
And you’ll need to know how to sew,
For inside the blanket of pockets are all
The pieces of your childhood,
So still in time, those forgotten times,
Just jammed deep, deep, deep down and closed forever –
The blanket of many pockets.
Carefully and with the most of ease,
You must look into these pockets,
Pull up the contents, remember them,
Give them your respect, for they are parts of you
Wanting to be honored.
Those parts were once useful until This Point,
This minute of time.
Now, you must take and sew into the blanket –
Into your blanket of being –
So the blanket of turns an array of light pastel
colors.”
But still the young woman was frightened and
Horrified by the words of the warm woman.
Because, at least, she KNEW THE BLANKET WELL.
Her parents, her boyfriend, her friends all knew her well
As the young woman of life and love,
Not of her childhood past. But she wasn’t one to show her feeling of her life.

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