I’m not sure how to write about today’s walk because it had two poles of its own.
On the one hand, I had a lovely walk with my friend from college where I recounted the ways in which I made genuine friendships with the most unexpected but inspiring people in the ward this time, and how that’s one of the things that helped me heal so quickly.
We talked about my appreciation for the Mental Health Workers at the hospital, and my deep desire to serve in a similar role some day, whether in a volunteer or professional capacity.
We talked about her own stories, which are not mine to tell, but I value the way she trusts me enough to share some of her burdens.
And then a giant pit bull ran up behind us and attacked my miniature pinscher/chihuahua/basset hound mix and I had to wrestle them both down a hill to get him free.
I’m starting to think someone has it out for me.
(And no, I don’t mean that in a paranoid/delusional way, just a plain old self-pity way).
I know that was not the safest way of handling the situation, but I was alone and the adrenaline kicked in and I really, really could not handle the thought of losing my dog right now.
As I’ve mentioned before, he’s like another baby to us. What I haven’t mentioned is that he serves as a bit of an emotional support dog for me.
When I cry, he’ll put both of his paws up on my chest and wait for my breathing to calm.
He incessantly licks my hands like I’m his puppy to calm my anxiety.
In many ways, I think he sensed my mania before I did. I’m curious about whether or not there’s a way to confirm that and channel it towards early detection, but I am no animal behaviorist and he is barely trained as it is.
So I think I’ll keep it short today and say that I’m feeling determined to fight for what I have and, more importantly, I’ve proven that I’m strong enough to do so.
And please, for the love of God, keep your dog on a leash.
Thanks for reading,
62 miles down, 38 miles to go