So… big news (and no, I’m not having another manic episode and spending all my money…yet). I might be getting a psychiatric service dog! That’s a professionally trained, four-legged mental health support machine who won’t judge me for crying in bed and watching The Lorax for the 6th time in a row.

Let’s be real: living with my diagnoses is like being a lead character in a show I know absolutely nothing about. Some days are good and other days, like today, are kind of rough. It’s like chaos with a soundtrack. And as much as I love (that’s a strong word) my meds and my therapist, I need a companion who knows when to interrupt my spiral with a nudge on the chest, some deep pressure therapy, and a look that says, “Breathe, baby.”

I’ve done extensive research. These dogs are like other service dogs on steroids tbh. Trained to help with grounding, panic attacks, paranoia and reminding me that no, the government isn’t spying on me through my toaster. Plus, they can’t ghost me, trauma dump, or ask to borrow money. Win-win.

But there is a catch. They are EXPENSIVE. Like… sell my kidney AND arm (possibly a leg as well) on eBay expensive. So I have been looking into grants and putting some applications out there, because being broke AND mentally ill is a personality combo now. If all goes well, I’ll have a dog who is more emotionally intelligent than half the people I have dated.

Will I pick a cute name? Obviously. Will I cry the first time they bring me back to reality? Duh. Will I post way too many photos of them looking noble and lifesaving while I look like a ragdoll mid-episode? Right again.

Anyways, cross your fingers, toes, meds, and anything else you want to cross that this grant comes through for me – because I have never needed a therapist with paws more than I do right now.

One paw closer to sanity,

Oliver ❤