Monday, November 08, 2004

I Do Not Think That They Will Sing To Me

I have a dog, a wonderful dog, and I live next to some wonderful dogs. I can tell exactly where I am on the depression scale when I see them.

If the meds are humming right along, leaving Roscoe (that would be mine) after walking him doesn't phase me at all...even after an assault with his best "pity me" face.

If I'm on the falling side of a dose, seeing Henry...aka "Tough Guy", the Jack Russell next door...wandering around his yard nails me right in the chest. Even though he is probably thrilled to be outside, and even more excited to get pets from me, his eyes and his little wagging tail seem, to my darkening brain, like symbols of infinite longing; I see an eternal painful loneliness in him that does not exist.

And Roscoe with his huge Boston Terrier eyes? Forget it. I've cried on the way back to work after walking him...even though I know he's back there, on our bed, completely engrossed in his hunt for the treats I've hidden in the blankets.

That's what pisses me off about those sanctimonious proponents of positive thinking. If it were just about thought replacement, yeah sure. But that's no help when the source is bad. I could spend most of my mental energy smashing the "bad thoughts" into "good" ones, but the suckers keep coming from some infinite well. Sometimes just a smell evokes a wash of pain. How on earth do you guard against that??

More sometime later...I'm off on my (seemingly) endless search for help

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