How My Dog Saved My Life

Freshly twenty-two and moving into a new apartment, I was coming to terms with a lot of traumas. Though I’d always had some nagging thoughts about my father, I went to therapy as an adult for the first time and came to realize that he was a narcissist, and I was coming to terms with the fact that I had witnessed so much abuse and toxicity as a child. On top of that I was dealing with the aftermath of an awkward breakup with my boyfriend of the last four years, my mother had been diagnosed with Stage three breast cancer the year before, divorced my dad, and I was dealing with delayed healing from a sexual assault that occurred when I was eighteen. To say that I was a mess would have been the understatement of the century.

Though everything in my life was looking up: I had a new job with the potential to become a career, I was making more money, driving a nicer car, and moving into a nicer, bigger apartment, I felt hollow inside. Imagine all the classic descriptions of depression warning signs on steroids and that was my life. I worked and slept. Despite the constant anxiety, I was feeling dealing with my workplace, I signed up for and worked overtime for the money. If I ate, I was not motivated nor did I have the energy to cook so I ordered pizza or got fast food. Long story short: I was depressed, spending beyond my means, my apartment and my mental health was a complete mess. Though I no longer got enjoyment out of the things I used to, I would spend money going to the movies with friends on credit when I couldn’t afford it because I desperately needed ANY dopamine.

After a while, I became exhausted with living in the cycle of depression. I am very lucky in the way that I have a lot of willpower and when I decide on something, it’s pretty much impossible to stop me from doing it. It may not be overnight, but it will happen at some point. I decided to take steps towards ending this cycle. I started with taking care of myself, then gradually moved on to cleaning my apartment, reached out to a couple friends to try and end my self-imposed isolation and sought out a furry little hiking partner. Hiking was something I had always enjoyed, and nature was truly medicine for me. I knew that returning to this habit would be helpful for getting me back on track.

When my eyes first landed on this chocolate/auburn colored lab mix, I stared at her picture for a moment trying to figure out exactly what breed she was. She was on a three day hold down at the animal shelter because she had been picked up by animal control. She was estimated to be around seven years old, and I knew that she had a lower likelihood of getting adopted because of her age. The next day I went down to the shelter to meet the dog and it didn’t go at all like I planned. She was not a happy, tail wagging lab mix I’d been expecting. In fact, she was rather sassy and wanted little to do with me once I hooked her onto the leash and took her outside to walk her. She pulled me around and off the trail into the grass, sniffing anything and everything. She didn’t want to be pet, did not respond to any commands or her name and was seriously stubborn. I guess at that moment in time, I needed a project because I wasn’t getting satisfaction in life out of my job, and I had essentially no relationships in general because I had been hiding in a hole for so long.

I was the first person to put my name on the list to adopt this cranky dog when her three-day hold was up. When it expired and I finally went to pick her up, she was excited to get in my car. It was obvious that riding in cars was something that she had done often. On the ride home, she panted and looked out the window, drooling everywhere. She was an anxious dog, and I was an anxious person: we were the perfect match. During the first couple months that I had her, we went hiking almost every weekend. Though she was an older dog, she still had a lot of energy, and she was able to keep up with me and over time we moved to longer and longer hikes.

Our biggest struggle, by far, was that she wasn’t housebroken. Judging by the amount of dirt I had washed off her the first day she was home, she had been raised as an outside dog. Over time, she learned, and we started to develop a good connection. She started to always demand cuddles from me, began sleeping in my bed and if I wasn’t working, she was riding along in the car with me to run errands, or we were headed off to find a trail. We went camping together.

She was my friend in a time when I felt like I had no one. It wasn’t anyone in my life’s fault that I felt so alone, there is just some healing that you need to do on your own and I had avoided this healing for a long time. There was so much unresolved within me, and I because of this I had constant suicidal ideations throughout the day.

What would happen if I just didn't steer on this curve?

What would happen if I took the entire bottle of aspirin?

How long would it be before I was found?

Would anyone miss me?

Chelsea found me when I was in such a dark place, her adorable, fluffy face somehow stood out from all the rest, and she gave me something to take care of so that I had a reason to stay here and stay alive. She depended on me to feed her every day, take her on adventures in the car and to be her literal entire world. To her, I was everything. Who was I to take that away from her?

This form of treatment may seem a little unorthadox to some and I'm no mental health professional, so I can't say if this approach would work for you or not. I can, however, say for myself that this dog truly did save my life. If she hadn't come along, I'm not sure how long I would have been able to fight off those nagging thoughts firing off in my head. Every day, they would come up and every day I would remind myself that I had to be there for Chelsea. Over time, the thoughts came less often and after a while, they were gone. I'm so grateful for her and everything she helped me get through, without even trying and I'm in a much healthier place now.