Back in 1992, renowned neurodiversity advocate Dr. Temple Grandin laid the groundwork for the research on deep-touch pressure that would eventually lead to the creation of the first weighted blanket. She and some other big brain scientists or whatever claim that the extra weight placed upon your body is supposedly, like, good for your mental health and shit? That sounds pretty rad, actually, but hey, newsflash, docs: why should I go out and buy one of these things when the sheer enormity of my own failures is free?
The number of people purchasing weighted blankets has been steadily increasing year after year, but I’m not about to be one of those losers. Why would I want the tonnage of a heavy-ass bedspread regulating my emotions like I’m Linus from the Charlie Brown cartoons when all I need to do is think back to the time when I lost out on a full ride to MIT by sending in my application a month after the deadline. Mmmm…I can feel my stress levels dropping already! I think. I definitely feel heavier physically, like, it’s harder to breathe.
Using past experiences as a way to help overcome feelings of anxiety is probably some kind of therapy, and I honestly feel bad for these guys out here who are actively cheating themselves out of such a masculine way of slaying their demons. Watching Frasier underneath a quilt loaded up with a comfortable amount of steel beads? No thanks. Remembering how I’m not allowed to look after my nephew anymore because of that one time I let him use my BB gun and he shot himself in the shoulder and had to get stitches? Pure relaxation. My sister won’t even give Jason the birthday cards I mail to him anymore. Bonus!
Look, I understand that my friends and family have their own method of achieving a bit of inner peace and that I have my own. Being nestled under a sheet of fabric that’s roughly ten to twelve percent of your body weight is reportedly super beneficial and all that, but I don’t see why everyone has to try to push that shit on me. I’m more than happy looking up at the ceiling of my dad’s walk-in closet at night, reminiscing on how I’ve never truly found love and that my best years are far behind me.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..