MY JOURNEY FOR A SERVICE DOG

Navigating the world with an invisible disability is difficult. People don’t know why I can’t stay out late, or why I suddenly have to get up and leave, sometimes just to the bathroom to catch my cool, other times to go home. I may disappoint friends and my family is baffled by my problems. I do force myself to socialize, which is how I met my wonderful girlfriend. I get anxiety attacks that leave me shaken and completely out of it. Sometimes I don’t know where I am. A Psychiatric Service Dog can help with that, too, by leading me to an exit, car, or friend.

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All My Friends Are Dead – by Nicki Stein

“I’m—GOING—to DIE,” I sobbed with my whole body. I wiped my salty-wet fingers on the car dashboard.

Anxiety and mental illness have long loomed in the background of my family history: My great-grandmother had a penchant for hoarding keepsakes and keeping pristine notes on the date and time she acquired each one in her tiny, immaculate handwriting. Her engagement ring was supposed to go to me when my grandmother died, but my aunt has an intense superstition that the ring brings bad luck, and so it’s been kept in a safety deposit box for the past ten years.

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