Yesterday I got another depression attack, serious to the point that I got a fever.
I was thinking about Maxie all day. I thought about how miserable he was, tethered 24/7 if not for me playing with him or walking him. And when I'm not with him, he cries and barks and I'm anguishing in my room because no one wants to deal with my drama outside of it.
Whenever Maxie cries, it's like a message plastered on a billboard: "**You're no different from your shitty parents or your shitty neighbors!**"
Moreover, the dog training videos that I've watched had me more frustrated than motivated because, I realized, I didn't want to teach Maxie all these things before he would learn to behave. Like all the other dogs, I just wanted him to be able to enjoy himself without harming anyone. That he couldn't do that was what got him tethered in the first place.
The most common reaction is "Why did you get a dog if you're not going to take care of it properly?" Not that it's an invalid question, but what's the point of answering it now? The reality is that I do have a dog, and that I can only do so much to care for it. Now that I think about it, I've decided that I didn't want to bring a dog once I live alone, because attending to my own needs is hard enough as it is. I did not want to be a parent, period.
The question that gets me really stuck is: who's going to care for him if not me?
I can suck it up and commit, albeit grudgingly and with no peace in sight.
Family is out of the question unless he's trained.
Someone else, a new family or a no-kill shelter.
Or his soul would be freed if he were euthanized.
And here, we know that the anguish comes with guilt.
This line indicates a twenty-minute pause where I recalled a certain memory and took tests for PTSD. They came out positive.
Hector had a littermate we named Shin, and he was as affectionate as his mother. One day, he was visibly sick, but no one in my family bothered to take him to the vet. I held him and stroked him and told him things would be okay. He was dead the next morning, and a part of me along with it.
That was three years ago. Back then, I'd known absolutely nothing of what I knew now, but it was probably my first step into the estrangement crusade.
The day Shin died was the day I decided I could never trust my parents again, not with the health of a small thing, and neither with the health of their own spawn. On top of that, the fact that I couldn't do anything to prevent it, nor that no one really seemed to care for my distress was crushing for my self-worth.
Huh, PTSD. That's a whole new perspective to look at things, and if not for the italicized break, it really came from nowhere. But, I suppose, I've got next month to anguish over it.