Black Dog

The black dog is back. It saunters up, dripping with mud and slobber and rainwater. It’s shaggy and unkempt and elusive. Its eyes are easily the most unnerving; they’re blue and cold and they stare into mine as I watch it from my window.

It’s rainy outside today and the sky swirls an ocean of gray against the distant city skyline. The dog sits there despite this rain and it sits and waits although I have no clue what it could possibly be waiting for. I shake my head, ignoring it and tilt my head back to swallow a handful of pharmaceuticals- anxiety and depression medication primarily.

Sleep takes me captive in the evening and guides me blindfolded into the catacombs of my brain. Dreams overtake me and in the dreary hours of first light, morning silver shining on my face leads me back into a clouded reality. Coffee and more pills are taken as I lean against the window, waiting for the black dog. Maybe it won’t come back today, but I don’t want to rely on hope. Eyes crusted with sleep, I watch as people come and go, their cars screaming down the street to their very important city jobs. I scoff and prepare to leave for a walk. This is usually the only time I leave my house besides the very occasional trip to the city for stationary and food. I go to school in the city as well, but it's currently winter break. Gray sweater over my head and the gray sky above and the gray ocean rolling lazily against the algae coated rocks. I walk to the end of the sidewalk and shrug my shoes off, beginning my usual path along the beach. The sand pushing through the gaps in my toes is the only connection I’ve felt with the world since starting these medications. The pounding of the waves deafens even my loudest thoughts; the worst anxiety is brought to its knees when the sea hits the rocks, sending spray towards the stars.

There’s a message on my phone when I get home. After the monotonous tone of the machine, I hear her voice. It’s ultramarine blue and it’s buoyant and light and keeps me from sinking further. Her voice shakes slightly as she reminds me that she’s coming to my house for my birthday today. She tells me that she hates going this long without talking and I feel my lips tilt into a frown. We were in love in college and even after I left to attend grad school on the East Coast, she remained the closest person to me. After I started medication, I felt myself pushing away everyone that knew me well. She called or messaged me daily and I always hated myself for my short, nondescript responses. I felt claustrophobic by her presence, but I simultaneously never felt close enough to her.

I lay on the couch, waiting for the sound of her car pulling up to my house. The familiar sound of her car door slamming wakes me from my daydreams and I stand to meet her.

“I brought us a cake,” she says coyly after I open the door.

I smile for what seemed like the first time in weeks and let her in. I notice her eyes falling on the open pill bottles on the coffee table and the pillows and blankets on my couch. Her eyes meet mine and I notice her brow furrowing as she begins to say something, but I interrupt by asking how her drive was. I lead her to the kitchen and brew tea as she tells me of her three hour long journey to my house from her apartment in upstate New York. I pour the tea into a canteen and ask if she wants to eat the cake by the bay. We spread a blanket out over the sand and slice the chocolate cake, pairing it with ginger tea. We talk about her life and her grad school work and her cat and I feel myself laughing, like we were back in college together.

After settling into a comfortable silence, she asks me the question I had been dreading: “How are you doing?” I laugh a bit and lay back, staring at the stormy skies above.

“These pills… They aren’t helping me that much.” I sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, but I keep seeing this black dog. I don’t know who it belongs to or if it even has a name, but I suspect it’s the pills.” She’s silent. “I feel like I’m separate from reality and this dog is just this personification of… I don’t even know. I really miss you, y’know.”

“I miss you, too. I wish you would move upstate with me.” I sit up and look towards the waves, knowing that this conversation comes up with every visit.

“I know. We should head back. I’m glad you came.”

When I hear the finality of her car driving away, I step outside to feel the icy ocean breeze. Against the jade seas beyond, I see a familiar shape making its way towards me. I watch motionless as the black dog trots up my street and sits at the end of my sidewalk. I feel a heaviness in my throat and choke back tears, wishing I wasn’t alone. I back into my house, not wanting to lose sight of the dog and take a handful of pills. I hate staring my depression in the eyes and I hate it staring back at me even more. The dog tilts its head to the side and I begin to cry. I seize and shake and yell and cry just for the sake of crying. I crumble against the floor and see my reflection in the window. It isn't me, though. It's the black dog.

I resolve to get rid of this beast once and for all and dish up a slice of chocolate cake on a platter. I set it outside and invite the dog forward. The dog eats the cake and I watch like a delusional, murderous maniac, remembering that chocolate is poisonous for dogs. I need to get out of my head and this dog keeps me trapped. I sit crouched for what seems like hours, but the dog doesn't react to the cake in the slightest. I sink to my knees and feel numb; the icy wind wraps around my bones and raindrops begin to clumsily fall from the sky. The dog stands and walks towards me, nudging his head under my arm. I fall against it and cry for hours.

“How did I get here?” I ask the dog. "You're not even real. How did it get this bad?”

I wake on my couch with sunbeams hitting my face. I feel disoriented and have no idea how or when I fell asleep; I stand in a hurry and look out the window. In the distance, cerulean ocean waves and mossy rocks and above me, a sun filled sky. And no black dog. I look at my pills and shake my head, resolving not to take them today. Mental health is delicate; it is wavering and transient and only stays strong with love.