Dogs...

This has been a long week for me.  Of course, it is the week with that day in it.  Having never been loved, each Valentine's Day that rolls around, I think I died just a little bit more, deep inside.  Myrtle, the unloveable.

Tonight, after a very long week with a very long day today, I was on the phone helping someone with his website development.  For this small moment in my rather exhausted life, I was DOING SOMETHING that was productive and helpful and a bit fun for me.  Although, to be fair, because I was so exhausted, I told him straight up the things that I observed that needed consideration.  He's done an extraordinary job, but there is room for improvement before he goes live.  I just didn't have room in my remaining energy to tell him the 1,001 ways in which he has created a really great website before telling him the areas that were not so great.  Thankfully, he didn't need me to build him up before getting down to business, before getting down to the way in which I could help him.  That should have made the end of my very long day of a very long week good but it did not.

Instead,  I lost it whilst on the phone with him.
SIGH.

You see, Amos was doing his whimpergrowl to go tend to his needs and so I unhooked the phone and the computer and took both outside with us so that I could continue to DO SOMETHING whilst awaiting Amos to conquer his fear long enough to do something.  But when I looked to the back corner of the yard where he started to race whilst barking, I could see two very, very, very large dogs. Because my vision is so poor with these glasses (hopefully the second new pair will come soon), I could not tell if the dogs were in my yard or not.  I tossed the computer on the small table on the back porch and started screaming at Amos to come back to me.

Amos was more interested in protesting the existence of the dogs.
I was too afraid to even get close enough to Amos to grab him and bring him to safety.
Amos barked.
I screamed.
All in all, it was a bad moment.

Then, I heard some guy start yelling at me to calm down.  It appears he thought it was great for his dogs to hang out at my back gate.  HUMONGOUS dogs NOT ON THEIR LEASHES IN VIOLATION OF COUNTY AND CITY LAW.  I pointed out that they needed to be on leashes and his talk to me turned from scorn to cruel speech.  I was shaking and trying to herd Amos back inside where he would be safe.  [Three times I have found big dogs in my back yard who jumped my fence to be there.]

Okay, let's be honest, where I would be safe.

Oh, how I hate the fear that consumes me when it comes to big dogs, especially those not on leashes,  near me and my dog.  I hate the adrenaline and norepinephrine and cortisol racing through my body.  I hate the violent tremors.  I hate the raw throat from screaming.  I hate the need to go stuff myself in the back of my closet in order to calm down.  SIGH.

In Alexandria, Kashi was bitten twice through my fence.  Whilst walking, I was bitten (albeit not badly) three times by dogs that were "friendly."  Don't tell me that your dog is friendly.  Having a friendly dog does not mean that you can ignore leash laws.  Friendly dogs still bite.  And, even if they do not bite, I have every right NOT to have your "friendly" dog race over to me and jump all over me because I've picked up my dog to keep him from interacting with yours.  IT'S THE BLOODY LAW!

I went over a year without cutting as a coping mechanism for being overwhelmed to such a degree that it was cut or worse.  Cutting works.  It is effective in bringing clarity in a storm.  I get that it is an unhealthy coping mechanism and I very much dislike the careful scars on my body.  I thought I had finally moved on.  But I just don't have that Big Gun.

Words written about me online overwhelmed and felled me.  I cut.
A scene that has me right back there.  I cut.
Big dogs barking and pawing at my back gate.  I cut.

I am trying to hold onto the positive of this day:  I learned I am using my cane on the wrong side.  I am using it correctly, putting it forward when I take a step.  But by using it on right side, my dominant side, I am putting all the pressure of walking on my right side (and on my rather painful right SI Joint and right hip), instead of allowing the cane to help spread the strain of walking equally across my pelvis.

In my book, that info alone was worth the $40 of the Physical Therapy session.  As to how else it might help me, the jury is still out.

I think I also need a more stable cane, especially if I have to figure out how to use it on my left side.  That or I need an alternative assistive device altogether.  [I dream of a walker most days.]  I think that,  if I get a cane with a quad base (four legs), I might be able to learn to walk with the cane on my left side, using my weaker and less coordination arm.  I am, after all, the least coordinated person on the planet.

I am trying to hold onto learning something helpful regarding the misery in my body.
I am trying not to think of big dogs.
I am trying not to think of failure.