First of all, losing a pet is something that I truly cannot put into words that would make any real sense. Making the decision to put her down wasn’t the hard part - she was deeply suffering and the only gift I could provide her was relief. But, as the moment came for me to bring her into the vet, my heart began to slowly tear apart. As I lay on the floor with the one living being who knew me best, I couldn’t contain the tears as they streamed down my face, falling onto the concrete floor next to her soon to be lifeless body. I adopted Belle when I was 21 years old and we had moved out west together, just her and I. She had been there for me through the most difficult times and the very best of times. She was there for nearly every highline I ever walked! On that cold January day as she was injected with the substance ultimately meant to stop her heart, my heart nearly stopped beating as well. I literally didn’t know who I was without her. I laid next to her until she took her last breath and I couldn’t believe that my best friend would no longer be there to snuggle me at night, nearly knock me down with excitement after a long work day or to lay with me when she knew I was devastated (and she always knew). It was a sense of loss that I had never experienced before and I cried for weeks. That dog got me through over a decade of my life and I am eternally grateful for her old soul and unconditional love for me. A few weeks after losing her, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sensation of a dog licking my hand. The strange thing was, it couldn't have been my other dog, Piper, because my hand was lying in the corner where the bed met the wall. I am sure it was Belle.
Belle and I in 2009
As I grieved the loss of my beloved companion, my husband and I chose to separate after 7 years together. I won’t go into the details of our separation and divorce because I want to respect his privacy but I would like to share how I felt and how it affected me. When I chose to get married, I had no doubt in my mind that it was the right decision. Actually, I was the one who proposed to him (we had made a silly little bet about who would do it first). I was so sure about it, more sure then I had ever been about anything else before. Unfortunately, it was as if the odds were stacked against us from the very beginning. Throughout our relationship, we continually ran into road block after road block: issues with family, financial barriers, my chronic illness, his career change, housing problems and the list could go on. Sometimes, we both wondered if our relationship was somehow cursed. Things that he would buy me as gifts would constantly end up breaking or go completely missing. Was this a sign? Looking back on our 7 years together, part of me feels like the universe was trying to tell us something: perhaps this was not the partnership we were meant to be in. The funny part about it is, it wasn’t like we fought with one another. Actually, we never did; we got along incredibly well! Of course we had our issues like any couple does, but we were always respectful and caring towards one another. Always. It was somewhat frustrating that we couldn’t seem to convince the universe to make it work and ultimately, the universe was right (it always is!). In the end, my heart was broken and I’m sure his was too. Divorce is truly devastating, it honestly felt a lot like the loss of my dog: a death. I truly didn’t know how to process what was happening to me and my life! So, I unconsciously chose not to face it and jumped directly into a new relationship in an attempt to numb the immense amount of pain I was feeling (sound like a familiar story?).
A Song for Mark
Diving into a new relationship was really exciting at first. A big part of me was
really hopeful and open to something new. Despite the fact that he informed me of his emotional unavailability and past issues with commitment, I chose to ignore those statements and I believed that I could help him open up his locked up heart. Being an empath at my core, I thought that I could teach him how to be vulnerable and help him learn how to truly love. Maybe teaching someone to love would help me get over my painful divorce? In hindsight, I think this was an attempt to keep myself from feeling the pain that was buried deep inside. Ultimately, and not surprisingly, the relationship met its demise. When something just isn’t working out, there is no forcing it and that is exactly what we were trying to do. As excruciating as the experience was, trying to make a relationship work that just wasn’t ended up teaching me many lessons. I learned that when two energies don’t mesh, it’s best to just accept that fact. I learned that when someone isn’t ready to love, you can’t force them to be ready. And, I learned to wait for what is truly right for me because if I'm not patient, what is meant for me will never find its way into my life.
Finally, I’d like to speak about what it was like to get off of a drug I had been on for nearly two thirds of my existence (I feel like this topic is actually worthy of its own separate post which I may eventually write). But for now, I am going to be completely honest and open about my mental health and that is something that scares me a little. It scares me because mental health isn’t something people usually talk openly about. It’s not something that is looked at the same way as a physical ailment is. But, in hopes of changing that stigma, I am going to talk about my challenges openly and without shame. When I was 12 years old, I was officially diagnosed with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). It manifested itself in a variety of ways when I was young but mainly, when I was 5, I began worrying about germs to the point where I would wash my hands so incessantly that they would bleed. As I grew older, I started to experience very unhealthy thought patterns. I began obsessing over things that were completely irrational and made up. For example, I would lie awake at night paralyzed by the idea that someone was going to break into the house and kill my family members, leaving me with no sleep whatsoever. Or, I thought that if I didn't get up and fix the curtains in just the right way, something terrible would happen. There are many other outlandish thoughts that entered my mind as well but they are so disturbing to me that I don't feel comfortable sharing them. The thing is, these thoughts were not just thoughts or fears; they were so intrusive that I could not function within my daily life. I was so caught up inside my own brain that I was often staring into space or completely unable to participate in daily activities. It was like I was a zombie, trapped inside my own dysfunctional mind which was putting miserable and terrifying thoughts on never ending repeat. My mother began to realize that something wasn’t quite right with me and took me in to see a psychiatrist.
From there, I was put on a medication called Paxil, which in the mid 90's was deemed safe, even for children my age. At the time, Paxil changed my life for the better, almost immediately! My obsessions were completely gone and I could exist as a normal, healthy teenager. I only suffered a few episodes of severe OCD thoughts over the span of 22 years (although I still exhibited “ tendencies” like keeping things extra organized or “ just so”). Unfortunately, many years after I was put on the drug, the medical community learned that it was extremely physically addictive and caused birth defects in newborn babies. Upon finding this out, it took me 10 years and various attempts to successfully to get myself off of it. It turns out that 2019 was my year for success, but the process was truly unbearable. To explain what it was like, some people compare the process of getting off Paxil to getting off of Heroin. During the transition from Paxil to a newer and much safer drug, I suffered extreme anxiety and panic attacks, nausea, headache, flu like symptoms, and more. I hid these withdrawal symptoms very well because I am an expert at pretending I am okay. But honestly, without the support of my mother and the incredible friends that I have in my life, I’m not sure I would still be here to tell this tale. I called my Mom nearly every day for month's during the transition and I don’t know how I will ever repay her for answering my calls.
As this year is coming to an end, I am finally finding myself in a better place and feeling a sense of comfort and stability. I am at peace with the loss of both my dog Belle and my marriage. Having left my toxic job at the beginning of the year was the best decision I could have made for myself and I now have a job that makes me happy and I feel both valued and fulfilled. I am no longer dating someone that isn’t right for me and I am also on a safer drug helping me manage some of my mental health challenges. Honestly, I feel a little kooky for choosing to write about all of this on my blog and I deliberated long and hard before publishing because this may be the most vulnerable and open that I have ever been on this platform. But, there is something within me that is always pushing me to tell my story, regardless of how personal or how raw it may be and I have always been this way: brutally honest. I realize that there are people out there that may judge me for aspects of what I am sharing or perhaps not completely understand (specifically the OCD part). But, I am also sure that there are people out there who are going through similar life challenges that may take solace in that fact that they are not alone. What I’ve realized is that life is very much like a roller coaster ride that never ends. There will be ups and downs. There will be moments of pure euphoria and moments of sheer terror. There will be moments when you think the worst is over but there is still more to come. But, as my best friend always tells me during times of trouble “just wait a few weeks, Emily, and everything will be different”.
Finally, I’d like to speak about what it was like to get off of a drug I had been on for nearly two thirds of my existence (I feel like this topic is actually worthy of its own separate post which I may eventually write). But for now, I am going to be completely honest and open about my mental health and that is something that scares me a little. It scares me because mental health isn’t something people usually talk openly about. It’s not something that is looked at the same way as a physical ailment is. But, in hopes of changing that stigma, I am going to talk about my challenges openly and without shame. When I was 12 years old, I was officially diagnosed with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). It manifested itself in a variety of ways when I was young but mainly, when I was 5, I began worrying about germs to the point where I would wash my hands so incessantly that they would bleed. As I grew older, I started to experience very unhealthy thought patterns. I began obsessing over things that were completely irrational and made up. For example, I would lie awake at night paralyzed by the idea that someone was going to break into the house and kill my family members, leaving me with no sleep whatsoever. Or, I thought that if I didn't get up and fix the curtains in just the right way, something terrible would happen. There are many other outlandish thoughts that entered my mind as well but they are so disturbing to me that I don't feel comfortable sharing them. The thing is, these thoughts were not just thoughts or fears; they were so intrusive that I could not function within my daily life. I was so caught up inside my own brain that I was often staring into space or completely unable to participate in daily activities. It was like I was a zombie, trapped inside my own dysfunctional mind which was putting miserable and terrifying thoughts on never ending repeat. My mother began to realize that something wasn’t quite right with me and took me in to see a psychiatrist.
From there, I was put on a medication called Paxil, which in the mid 90's was deemed safe, even for children my age. At the time, Paxil changed my life for the better, almost immediately! My obsessions were completely gone and I could exist as a normal, healthy teenager. I only suffered a few episodes of severe OCD thoughts over the span of 22 years (although I still exhibited “ tendencies” like keeping things extra organized or “ just so”). Unfortunately, many years after I was put on the drug, the medical community learned that it was extremely physically addictive and caused birth defects in newborn babies. Upon finding this out, it took me 10 years and various attempts to successfully to get myself off of it. It turns out that 2019 was my year for success, but the process was truly unbearable. To explain what it was like, some people compare the process of getting off Paxil to getting off of Heroin. During the transition from Paxil to a newer and much safer drug, I suffered extreme anxiety and panic attacks, nausea, headache, flu like symptoms, and more. I hid these withdrawal symptoms very well because I am an expert at pretending I am okay. But honestly, without the support of my mother and the incredible friends that I have in my life, I’m not sure I would still be here to tell this tale. I called my Mom nearly every day for month's during the transition and I don’t know how I will ever repay her for answering my calls.
As this year is coming to an end, I am finally finding myself in a better place and feeling a sense of comfort and stability. I am at peace with the loss of both my dog Belle and my marriage. Having left my toxic job at the beginning of the year was the best decision I could have made for myself and I now have a job that makes me happy and I feel both valued and fulfilled. I am no longer dating someone that isn’t right for me and I am also on a safer drug helping me manage some of my mental health challenges. Honestly, I feel a little kooky for choosing to write about all of this on my blog and I deliberated long and hard before publishing because this may be the most vulnerable and open that I have ever been on this platform. But, there is something within me that is always pushing me to tell my story, regardless of how personal or how raw it may be and I have always been this way: brutally honest. I realize that there are people out there that may judge me for aspects of what I am sharing or perhaps not completely understand (specifically the OCD part). But, I am also sure that there are people out there who are going through similar life challenges that may take solace in that fact that they are not alone. What I’ve realized is that life is very much like a roller coaster ride that never ends. There will be ups and downs. There will be moments of pure euphoria and moments of sheer terror. There will be moments when you think the worst is over but there is still more to come. But, as my best friend always tells me during times of trouble “just wait a few weeks, Emily, and everything will be different”.
My dog Piper and Me in 2019 :)
