Dog is good medicine for depression.

January 17, 2015

I dislike talking about my mental health because of embarrassment.  And, I think others are tired of it.  As many loyal readers know, I have fought worsening depression.  I posted desperate stuff on my blog.  Then came the calls and emails from my children and my oldest grandchild, worried.  After all, what if a call might make the crucial difference?  

Then I have to fight my guilty reaction.  I scared them.  Then things get worse.  More and more complicated, one fear, one anxiety, one guilt, piled upon the others.  The road to madness.  I shake my head vigorously to clear away this crap.

First, thank you to all who cared enough to give me such advice as to “get the fuck to a professional!”

This made me smile and, yes, I have seen a psychiatrist.

I have my second appointment the 27th of this month, first thing in the morning.  I know how lucky I am to get in to see a psychiatrist in Billings, Montana, in fewer than four months.  I got in to see Dr. Stiles inside of two.

In this town if you miss a psychiatric appointment, you might drop to the bottom of a long list.  A list that might take a year to get back to where you were.  I went to his office an hour and a half early, damned happy for an appointment.  Actually, I went by mistake a week early.  I was unfazed.  Walked home.

Dr. Stiles changed my antidepressant medication to one I had done fairly well.  Then he told me to exercise daily and follow a routine.  Oh yes, and to see him in a month.  As I mentioned.

I am happy to say I feel better, much better.  I made one change that my sister Carol, not Dr. Stiles, recommended:  I got a puppy.  Gunther makes me roll out of bed damned early, put on whatever sock I can find, pull up the pant legs, hobble out to my boots, and take the little fellow walking around so that he can poop and pee.  I couldn’t be happier. To return to the warmth of the house afterward.

Last Friday at work a young woman, Carol, a pharmacy technician, told me how I looked happier.  It was true.  I felt happier.

Gunther depended on me.  In turn, I needed him.  He accepted me unconditionally and looked at me with anxious, rolling eyes.

I have tried to exercise daily, but today, Sunday, I took a nap instead.  Exhausted.  From taking Gunther outdoors after his meals to poop and to pee.