He was a Good Boy

I have depression and anxiety which thankfully now is completely manageable.

It hasn’t always been.

Years ago when I was at my very worst I lost my job, my flat and I had to move back home with my family. I thought I had let everyone down. I felt like a failure.

As days and then months passed I wasn’t improving. I got as low as I could possibly get, making myself sick with crazy circular thinking.

Then something changed.

My Dad got a dog.

Tyson was a dog my Dad rescued from a shelter. He was mongrel of an unknown hybrid. To me he looked like the cross of an Alsatian and a Greyhound.

While my parents were at work and my sister was at college it would just be Tyson and me at home.

It’s very hard to stay in bed all day when a living creature is demanding you take it outside to pee.

As days went on I started to feel a little better I was getting out more even if it was just taking Tyson for a walk it was outside, something I had barely done in the previous months. It was regular outside time, it was exercise and more importantly it was the start of a routine.

I slowly realised I was getting better and built on my routine. This would eventually lead to me getting a job meeting the right girl and moving out again.

All thanks to the big lovely quiet dog who came to live with us.

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