My dog: She completes me

I love my dog. I have more than one dog, but lately, there is one among my pack that completes me in ways that no human is able to currently. I’m not entirely sure why this is, but… I think it has to do with the unconditional love. Or her smooshy face and licky tongue. Or maybe it’s just her overall awesomeness.

I am simply amazed by how this wonderful canine has affected me. But of course, as is my wont, I must digress.

Here it is: I suffer from severe anxiety. And I have all my life.

One word synopsis: ICKY.

And when the anxiety would hit… and last… it could be debilitating.

Understand that depression and anxiety is a river that runs wide and deep through my genetic landscape. Both sides of my family have eons and generations filled with people who have suffered from this disorder, and its associated disorders. Add that osteoporosis, varicose veins, macular degeneration and cardio myopathy are also in my genes and WOW—I make for one sexy dame. (*waves at husband* LUCKY MAN!)

The fact is I wasn’t blind to the whole thing. I knew I had this problem. When you refuse to leave your dorm room for days on end, ordering food in, that is clearly a problem. When you can’t get out of bed, or stop your heart’s constant racing and squelch the fear that you are going to die, those are clearly problems. The cyclical, obsessive thoughts, the unfounded fears, the general constant worry about everything large and small… yep. Problems.

I have done things over the years to manage my anxiety. One huge one was exercise. Another was diet. Still more were meditation and breathing exercises and yes, therapy. And when I was riding my bike 125 miles per week and meditating daily and had completely modified my diet and continued doing everything I could that every book suggested and still was having nonfunctional episodes, that’s when I turned to medication.

I’m not ashamed that I take medication, even in the face of all the people who shout that anxiety disorder isn’t real or that America is overmedicated. I really don’t care about those people, or all those other people who may overmedicate themselves.

Truth is I care about me. I am the person I live with; I am the person whose company I must continue to like even when I am alone.

…Which leads me to my dog.

Lately I have been pretty stressed. Whelmed, if not overwhelmed, by the economy and worklife and simply life-in-general. Feeling what I feel and knowing what I know about myself, I continue to look for ways to get back to that place of calm. Of balance.

After a day of dizziness and meetings and rumors and stress, I come home and the first to greet me is my dog. Her happy countenance, her waggy tail, her unbridled joy—it changes me. It relieves the cloud of negativity that hovers and I feel a sense of ease wash over me. Just enough to feel human again.

I love her soft fur and her gentle eyes and the way she loafs next to me, gnawing on a rawhide and seemingly oblivious to my existence. But then suddenly she will lick my hand or nudge me with her nose for a pet. And I am calmed.

I’m not alone in this.

I love my husband. I care deeply for my friends. But I’m a multi-dimensional gal.

I absolutely adore my dog.