She gave me something years of therapy never did—a reason to live.
By Sian Ferguson, Rodale's Organic Life
[post_ads]In 2016, I was hospitalized twice, I moved towns twice, I had two
break-ups, and I temporarily left university and started working
full-time. It was a stressful, heartbreaking, trying time for me and my
mental health.
My salvation came in the form of a fluffy, anxious, wide-eyed kitten
with a penchant for chasing moths and stealing my hairbands.
While taking her cat to the vet, my housemate met a 6-month-old kitten
who was in need of a home. She was initially said to be feral, but her
friendly nature ruled out that possibility. She was scrawny and
malnourished. Her long fur was matted. She was intrigued by humans, but
very anxious.
My housemate sent me a few pictures of the kitten. I’d been considering
getting a cat for a while, and my heart melted as soon as I saw her. I
arranged to adopt her, and soon, she was in my arms. I called her
Pandora.
She took a long time to get used to me. For the first two weeks, she
practically lived under my bed. She once ran out and got stuck in the
bushes for two days. During that time, I felt like it was a failure on
my part. It was then that I fully realized that a living thing – an
actual feeling, living thing – was dependent on me. To survive, she
needed me. For the first time, my existence was crucial for someone
else’s survival.
I realized that I needed to be okay for
her – I needed to function for her sake, if not mine. No matter how bad I
feel, I know I have to get up in the morning and feed her. I have to
work to make sure I can take care of her. I have to clean my room to
make sure she doesn’t break or misplace anything. When I feel like doing
nothing for myself or others, I remember that I have to protect her.
For some reason, that’s the most motivating factor ever.
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I realized that if any of my suicide attempts were successful, I
wouldn’t have been able to rescue and protect her. Without me, she might
still be an anxious ball of matted fur. This realization was something
that made me grateful for my life, despite the difficulties I endured.
When I’m in a lot of pain, I remind myself of this. How many more cats
do I have to carry on living for? What about friends who have yet to
enter my life? What about future lovers or children? More importantly,
how much joy will I miss out on if I check out of life now?
When
Pandora gained enough courage to leave my bedroom and explore the house,
her curiosity comforted me. She approached the world with childlike
wonder and found joy in small things. It was impossible for me to not
smile at her antics, and it was nearly impossible for me to feel
miserable when she was so clearly enamored with the world around her.
Everybody tells depressed people to see a therapist, but nobody tells
us how hard it is. Nobody tells us that therapy can be traumatic if
we’re paired with the wrong counselors. Nobody tells us that we often
have to fork out thousands before we find any sort of result.
Over
the past 9 years, I’ve gone through my fair share of therapists. I’ve
had some good counselors who cared about me deeply, and some others who
did not.
I stuck with counseling for a long time, and I learnt a lot from it.
But I eventually came to the conclusion that therapy was costing me too
much money, time and emotional energy, so I decided to take a break from
it.
[post_ads]Amazingly, Pandora gave me something years of therapy never did: a
reason to live. Therapists can talk you down and help you work through
complex feelings, but they can’t give you love, which is what I needed
all along. From a completely objective standpoint, adopting a cat was
the best decision I ever made for my mental health.
From the perspective of a young writer struggling to make ends meet,
she was – strangely – the cheapest and most effective therapy method
I’ve ever encountered.
I’m not saying therapy or medication is
useless—far from it. In fact, therapy and medication has saved my life
many times. Rather, I’m saying that healing can come from the most
unexpected of places.
Nothing can match the unconditional love of a pet. Even when I think
I’m the worst person in the world, my purring fluffball will always
nuzzle my neck and playfully chew my fingers. She doesn’t need my
constant attention, but she still needs me, and I need her.
With or without a pet, we’re always worthy of love. We deserve
validation and compassion always. But the gentle presence of our pets
can remind us of this fact when we’re struggling to remember it.
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