***this is labeled personal, and is mostly journaling / thought-process sharing, seeing if you can relate and "day-in-the-life" of a not so mentally stable human being.

And because I tend to hyper-fixate and nitpick on an idea, I ended up researching a fuckton on shelters, adoption requirements, processes, fees, training and vaccinations and even pet flight and transportation. And I hadn't even bothered telling my husband what if we get a pet?

 

History time. It's been nearly 3 years since our dog, Bendy, died and losing a pet is a really devastating feeling. It took a lot of time before I could feel like I deserve to be a furparent again and at the same time didn't want to put my son through another possible loss. We still miss Bendy, and I have a lot of regrets about taking better care of him: I definitely blame myself and my unstable mental health for how things turned out, how I wish I had my head screwed on tighter so I could have been more "there" and all the shoulda woulda couldas. But we deal with the circumstances given to us, whether or not we're able to affect the outcome. And all I keep telling myself now about that loss is that we will never repeat the things we regret and I would never have learned if I didn't go through the mistake. 

Fast forward to this continuously challenging year (when you think you've had the worst already but life just wants to keep topping it off with some good 'ol fuck you). One of the many reasons why I keep going back to wanting a pet companion is the notion that my mental health and our quality of life will improve. I mean, pets bring sunshine to dreaded Mondays and what-do-I-do-now moments, right? It's selfish, I know, but I've always had pets around me all my life and life seems less colorful without a furball of warmth to break your cycle of self-deprecation and loathing. I do have my son to attack with hugs, but he's growing and is setting boundaries for how long we can cuddle. And I don't think it's healthy to cuddle a 10 year old all day after a stress-induced work week.

Funny thing is I have, in fact, made a decision months ago that our current circumstances are not right for a new pet yet. Each time I browse posts on pets for adoption, I repeat that statement to remind myself that I need to be patient, more stable, more ready. The usual scenario is I "heart" the posts of pets I want to adopt, screenshot the photos and contacts, check in every few days if they've been adopted and mostly just obsess over the idea of having that specific pet on my lap, on my couch, living their best life while my home just produce more life points. 😅 I know, borderline addicted.

So that's the usual cycle, and from time to time, just to feed the obsession a little more I would also message to inquire about the adoption. Sometimes I get shortlisted, sometimes I don't get responded to, but at the end of it all I never push through to the adoption. I just know that I can't. I'm not capable, I don't deserve to yet.

With that context, you'd think, that I would have thought about it all thoroughly, really sat myself down and determined with a whole heart and present mind that today, "is the right time for my family to have a new pet in our lives". Cue in disappointment grunts. How I ended up adopting our new pet is actually unexpected, mainly because I thought I was just not gonna push through, but I blinked... and poof, there's four of us. 

His name is Marshall.

One usual, obsessive, adoption-searching evening I saw an ad posted on an adoption shelter's site of a chonky pug, posted barely 2 days. The details of the ad are minimal and my curiosity had too much coffee for the night. So, as usual, I enabled myself, got the poster's contacts and asked for more details...and then... forgot about it. 

But the owner responded the following day, and we had an exchange of questions: personality of dog, lifestyle of family, health concerns, reason for adoption, process, etcetera and etcetero. My usual safety net statement didn't activate at the time, in my mind I wasn't hoping or planning for anything. Just being my usual self-enabling insomniac.

Until the owner sent me more photos... And that's when I started showing the ad and messages to my husband, just like I would sometimes when I saw some cute pets for adoption. And his reaction was usual, he's cute, chonky, etc. and there wasn't really anything to it. He didn't say let's adopt him, let's do it. No, he was very neutral. And while nobody encourage me, I did end up searching on how to care for pugs, what to expect when adopting a rehomed dog, how to potty train, homecooked dog diet, swimming dog vests and those damned John Lennon sunglasses for puppies. Borderline obsessed, yikes.

Maybe it's the hypomania, maybe it's insomnia, or boredom, or me trying to distract myself from all of our other existing life problems... but, god damn it, it really took up my time and headspace. So long story short, I rode my obsessive wave and found myself buying a pet bed, potty stand and some treats without even thinking. Even then, in my mind, I still wasn't set on adopting. I know, right? Borderline- well -borderline.

And then one day we just woke up, took a drive to the place of the owner, met the little doggo and came home with him. And it didn't feel like a turning point where life will change forever, "a new stage unlocked", "family increased by 1", and so on. It felt like... budol. (Filipino term for something like a hit-and-run scenario where you end up buying/acquiring something through pressure or whirlwind "what just happened" moment) Where I was half unconscious and didn't know I decided to do this completely with my mind and heart aligned.

My husband might kill me if he reads this, and my sister, they do often say getting a pet is a responsibility and should be well thought of. I didn't even tell my son we were adopting, he just found out in the car when Marshall hopped on... I have got to be more mindful about these impulsive, obsessive episodes. But, just because how we adopted isn't the most ideal or proper way of adopting, doesn't mean I am not taking responsibility of it all now. On the contrary, arriving home, I was sort of jolted awake into my senses about the whole situation when I started spending more time with Marshall.

I had just prepared his food, and was getting ready to take him outside to potty, when I thought, "Hey, I wonder if he misses his family. Does he even know he's been given away?" - and then it occurred to me... this dog did not have a say at all in all of this. He just followed some new couple from his home down to a car and next thing he knows he's been rehomed. Then I thought, what if it was Bendy in this situation, and then I thought how Bendy must have felt during his last days with us - and a figurative wrecking ball smacked me in my delusional face.

What the hell was I thinking adopting a dog?

And, maybe I cried and panicked in the bathroom, but I really took it hard as guilt and fear came over. I do not want to fail this dog. And it's this thought that really got me to straighten my back and wake the fuck up. I keep thinking about Bendy, and all the ways things could have been better, and I try to apply that now to Marshall, especially he hasn't been with us too long and he's still adjusting.

Did you know that rehomed/ adopted dogs take about 3 months to adjust to their new home environment? It's one of the things I learned during my obsessive pet information absorption. To some degree, this hypomanic state came in helpful in equipping me with the right information and tools in adopting a dog, so I wasn't completely headless-chicken in this situation.

1 week in, Marshall is doing well with his potty training and knows when his mealtimes are. He's starting to show his belly, accept neck rubs and play with my son around the house. He still gets anxious at night, panting like he's dying in front of my face and pacing all around, but little by little each day he's learning to relax. I look at him a lot, and wonder what's on his mind, what's he afraid of, does he even feel abandoned? loved? confused? and I just tell myself, I must make this dog's life as good as it can get. If he's adding value to our lives, it's only fair we add value to his, right?

So, now I'm riding another obsessive wave of information overload by searching up pug care guide, homecooked dog diet, grooming, and so on and so on. After all, if my hypomania is putting me in situations I'm not ready for, I should use it as a tool to make me ready for those situations. How the turns the tables.

So...no regrets. Just moving forward, we're one unit more as a family, and I'm rewiring my brain and daily routine to accommodate this chunko. I think I'll do okay... I have to believe that. In any case, I'm thankful anyhow, all that brain fog of obsessive-delusional-surrealistic state is properly broken now and I think my critical incident response is effective. The usual messy-happy.

There's nothing left now but do my best and hope for the best.

Welcome to the family, chonker

Damn, this post is long.