This is a difficult time. You know, I knew I was depressed about Teddy…except, so much more is going on. I got my period shortly after he passed and that kind of was awful (I know it's just one of those things, but it didn't help my mood). Then I got a sinus infection. I now have a bladder/kidney infection. And a new puppy who noms everything and doesn't care if it's your face or the wall. He's a great guy. I love him beyond all reason already. Maximilian Thanksamillion (Max) is hard to keep up with, though, with the lower back pain, the depression, and just this general sense that I'm failing. My ocd is going crazy lately. And I know that's due to stress over Teddy's unexpected passing and I believe wholeheartedly in doing what I did–I can't give Teddy the affection I have for him. I can love him, but I can't hold him or play with him. So, for me, the logical thing to do is not hang onto misery…it's to give that love to somebody else who needs it. Now, I know a puli isn't a rescue dog. And believe me, I want to get a rescue dog (emphasis on dog…grown up), except I'm very attached to the breed. It's the breed I've had for more than two decades. I like their attributes. What's easy at twenty-three, though, is a lot harder at thirty-four. And like…back then…I had more help. So I was able to disappear whenever I needed to. I also hadn't been formally diagnosed with ocd, so symptoms were mild. My symptoms now are bad. And I feel like I'm failing Max. Not because I don't play with him. I do. I play hard with him and I read literature to get back the instincts of how to deal with puppyhood. I was up with him all night making sure he had everything he needed in terms of the bathroom, food, water, play, sleep. At 4 am I was breaking down on the phone because I feel very depressed and lost. Cried again at 6 am before I slept for fourish? hours. And today is just…everybody say something to set off my ocd day. So I'm ritualizing like crazy and I was out of my xanax for a day or so, which probably accounts for some rebound anxiety (and given the amount I was taking before, I've cut myself back drastically so…adjusting). I just…don't know what to do with myself. I'm sick of me. I'm sick of being like this–and yeah, I'm whining. I don't do it often–even my shrink says I tend to mask my symptoms so…I guess this is healthy for me. I'm not even paragraphing. My head hurts like mad from the residual sinus pressure that my meds didn't quite knock out. I'm barely eating or drinking (I don't know why…just not hungry or thirsty). There's a hawk loose in the neighborhood and I KNOW someone whose small dog was picked up (and thankfully dropped…though with massive medical bills) by a hawk, so I have to be on hawk patrol when he goes out. I feel like crying half the time…and I don't even know entirely -why-. I have this insecure feeling. Like…wow…I'm -this- bad at puppyhood, how am I going to handle kids. And I've -handled- them before…this is like having a newborn baby, though. With a full set of teeth and full mobility. Part of me feels like I'm failing him somehow. I don't know why. There are times I just want to escape…and cannot. And I feel bad for having that urge. I feel bad for loving him so much one second and getting so overwhelmed by him the next. I'm strangely dehydrated to the point I need chapstick and I feel all…messed up. Like a truck ran me over. And I know I don't want to take him back. He's my family–I love him. And then I think…well, if I really loved him and was unselfish I'd give him back so he could go to some family with some kids and a companion without ocd. Because when I'm tending to my ocd…I can't tend to Max. Somebody else needs to step in to take him and I'm lucky to have that help, however, I shouldn't need it. So I have more meds to take to cure my kidney and bladder. More xanax for my nerves. I see my shrink the 23rd and I get to explain how depressed I am and I hope he adds something to my cocktail that makes me perky. Sleep is hard…I'm having bad dreams and then I wake up agitated. Part of me just wants to lay around with Max and chill. Except there's always something to do. Or something he needs or wants. Or is doing that he shouldn't. I never thought a creature under ten pounds could find so many different things to gnaw. And yet…when he's asleep…he's unbelievably sweet and beautiful. When he's tired, he's cuddly and wonderful. Unfortunately, by that time, I'm tired, too. I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing (despite reading up to refresh myself). And the crying on the phone to my ex-fiance (third one) has to stop because we're growing close again and you know…I have to say, he's really been there since the Teddy thing. Which is new. I have a feeling it won't last and I want it to. I need the support system. And I have to go be on Max duty now. Ciao.