I’ve started this piece of writing in my head at least a hundred times now. It’s not pretty, which is why I struggled to actually write it. I envisioned this blog only existing to help others when I started writing here. The truth is that it actually helped me feel free from my twisty, spiraling thoughts. So, when I needed help the most because my thoughts became dark, I began thinking to myself, “No, don’t write that, it’s not helpful.”

Now I’m sure that was definitely the depression talking. It was fighting for space in my brain, and most of the time winning. I’ve spent a couple of years trying to get my footing back, while feeling myself slipping away. I’ve been a shell of myself, and I’ve known it every step of the way. Which, honestly, was the most painful aspect of feeling so depressed. Knowing the whole time that I wasn’t able to bounce back and just be myself, even though I desperately wanted to.

Better the devil you know. This idiom holds such a powerful sentiment in its simplicity. Anxiety was the devil I’ve always known. It’s awful and sometimes it can feel debilitating, but I know how to cope. Depression was definitely the devil I didn’t know. Hell, sometimes anxiety even seems useful. Preparedness comes from the overthinking. My ability to cut through to-do lists is definitely anxiety driven. I know it’s not healthy, but at least there’s a silver lining at times. Depression just knocks you down and then sits on you when you try to get back up. If you’re unable to find your way out of the depression, maybe you eventually give up.

The death of my dog was one hit too many. I numbed myself as much as possible during what I felt in my heart were his final days with me. Then I would lay down at bedtime and cry uncontrollably. My dying dog laid beside my bed, asleep, and all I could do was bawl my eyes out because I loved him too much to watch him go through his sickness. I wanted him to believe that I would be okay, so when he was awake I stayed as calm as possible and simply took care of him. I needed him to not be scared, so I made sure to keep my feelings together for him. The reason this was important to me was because he spent his entire life checking up on me. He was my protector and he always comforted me. He stayed by me through every cold, laid his head in my lap when I was sad, and through my depression, he laid in bed with me and made it okay that I wasn’t okay.

Ruffy was tough until the end. I didn’t even know he was sick until he was dying because he acted like a happy, hyper-active Jack Russell Terrier, until his organs actually started shutting down. Even when he lost the strength to walk, during the end, he wouldn’t have an accident inside, despite it actually being an emergency. I had to carry him outside and watch him hobble to find a spot to barely stand and go potty. He was loyal to a fault, strong willed and stubborn to the last second. He actually thought about chasing the cat one last time as I let him out in our yard that final time. I mean, he physically couldn’t, but he definitely wanted to.

Now, even in his death, he’s protecting me. Rock bottom of this awful depression was losing him. The memory of his unconditional love is my motivation to do better. He loved me too much for me to not be myself any more. I want to be as strong for myself as I was for him. Our bond taught me that the battle is tough, but so am I.