Off My Chest
RULES:
I am looking for mods!
1. The "good" part of our community means we are pro-empathy and anti-harassment. However, we don't intend to make this a "safe space" where everyone has to be a saint. Sh*t happens, and life is messy. That's why we get things off our chests.
2. Bigotry is not allowed. That includes racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, and religiophobia. (If you want to vent about religion, that's fine; but religion is not inherently evil.)
3. Frustrated, venting, or angry posts are still welcome.
4. Posts and comments that bait, threaten, or incite harassment are not allowed.
5. If anyone offers mental, medical, or professional advice here, please remember to take it with a grain of salt. Seek out real professionals if needed.
6. Please put NSFW behind NSFW tags.
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I can only share my story and hope it's inspiring.
TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE AND RAPE
My ex husband was abusive early on, but it got so much worse when I lost the ability to work... I was t-boned in 2014 and, when my joints, which had dislocated in the crash, refused to stay in their sockets; I got diagnosed with an illness that will degrade my body until my ligaments and heart fail. Once I became a "burden" my ex got violent, physically, sexually, and emotionally. I was lost, broken, worthless.
After one of his outbursts of screaming at and degrading me, I sat on the bed in our room, holding his gun, crying. He walked by, looked in the door, saw what I was doing, and shut the door. I felt dead inside already... couldn't work, couldn't "put out like a wife is supposed to", didn't have enough money to escape, and he's high ranking military, so his superiors didn't believe me. I grabbed the gun, held it close to my face and at that moment, my service dog, Avalanche, learned how to open the door.
He is for my seizures, and has never been taught how to twist a doorknob (trained on base), but he opened the door and FWOMPED on me. I bawled and realized I couldn't leave him. My ex had hit Avalanche, before, and my poor dog would never understand why his mom was gone.
I chose to stay, for my dog. The next day, a person reached out to me on Facebook asking if I was OK, because my post "looked like a cry for help". This is a person that I'd met, months earlier, because of Avalanche. Service dogs aren't allowed to be touched. They're trained to ignore people and he's VERY well trained; but this guy, Av approached and rolled over to ask for belly rubs from. I'd never seen anything like it!
Fast forward to today. I escaped my ex, a judge found me legally disabled (so, I'm on Medicare and not scared about medical bills anymore), my retired service dog is gonna be 11 in a few weeks and I spoil him, I've been happily married for 5 years, AND (despite my cardiologist telling me in 2015 that I'd likely be gone in 5-10 years) I'm still here! My seizures dropped from up to 14 a day, to maybe once a year! I sometimes still need a wheelchair, have a psychiatric service dog for the PTSD from the abuse and rape, but I'm here! Life is so much better. I feel like I'm proof that one's mental state impacts their physical state.
If Avalanche wouldn't have stopped me, I never would have learned that I DID deserve to be loved and respected, never would have become a disability advocate and helped others, never would be seeing my dog grow old (in a safe environment) and met my second service animal.
Yeah, life is tough. Finances are tight. I'm terrified of cuts to Social Security and Medicare. I'm scared that the next person in charge of the USA has said disabled people should "just die", but I found a reason to fight. Avalanche shifted my life in the best way possible. I recommend a lower maintenence pet for those with depression, though.