Last time I wrote I told you the story of how my world collided with a handsome Brittany Spaniel named Summit. I ended by telling you that there is so much more to our story. Here is a peak into that.
We took Summit home in the downhill slide of my depression. Things were getting worse. Instead of healing, I was declining. It felt like I was on a wicked treadmill. Working non stop, crying in pain as I took step after step but ultimately getting no where.
I've said it many times, and I'm sure to say it many more, that isolation is depression's best friend. They come together. And very rarely do you see one without the other, in my experience.
On the days I would lay in bed all day, Summit would lay right there with me. On the days I would force myself to get out of the house and take a walk, Summit would be walking right there with me. I don't know the full psychology and science of how much dogs are aware of our emotions, but this dog made me give them a lot more credit than I ever had before.
Summit is a pretty active dog, but on days I was struggling, he seemed to know. He would just come and be with me. He would cuddle up right next to me and not leave my side until I made the first move to get up.
Another way Summit helped in my healing was that he needed me. He needed me to keep him alive. He needed me to feed him, let him out to use the bathroom and to exercise him. I had a purpose. Without me on this earth, something would get thrown out of wack a bit. I hadn't believed that before. I had thought that if I were to commit suicide and leave my friends and family, it would be sad for them but more so relieving. It would be the lifting of a burden. But this dog brought me a purpose. He needed me.
Summit was evidence that God was watching out for me. I have no doubt that God brought me that dog as a gift. God felt really silent in that time, but He never let me go. He was providing in ways I never could imagine. It proved to me that I truly was loved by this God I had been so mad at.
Summit didn't fix me. Not at all. But he was and still is a comfort and joy. He's a little reminder to get up and keep moving. Because the world needs me.
There is one more part to his story I'd love to share. But that will have to happen next time.
Love you, friends.
Keep living. Keep growing. Keep fighting.