For every beginning
There is an ending
For every success
There is a price
For every gift
There is a loss
For every right turn
There is a wrong turn
For every challenge
There is a champion
Hey everybody. You may be wondering “Where is my favorite blogger?” “Is she okay?”
I’m not so okay. Today I want to write about an ending.
I took almost a week off school to go to the mainland to try to find a dog that a trainer over there would train so that I could have a service dog with a payment plan that was about $6,000 plus expenses of food etc. Considering service dogs are usually $15,00-$20,000 and it turns out I’m allergic to all the breeds they train, I was in a really stuck place. So I invested the money and the time.
I don’t want to waste time and space slamming the trainer for what happened. The long sad story short, I found a gorgeous husky/malamute mix who was 3 years old, very very smart, and who had been trained before with almost every task I needed for my PTSD. I took her through Walmart twice as a service dog in training and she had NO problems.
But then 2 days after I left the trainer said she snapped at her. I hadn’t seen that behavior before and I’d spent 4 days with her, in a new house, off the shelter- and supposedly she came in off the streets. Within 3 days she was housetrained. She gave hugs on command, checked perimeter, and I was feeling sick so I went and lay down and she went to go get help.
Against my better judgement I bonded to her. I was so excited and so happy. I hadn’t felt this wonderful in so long, like I had something to hope for, to reach for, that I could finally conquer my disability and bring my focus back to my life.
And then I got that text from the trainer and she said she would give her until the weekend to see if the dog was trainable but then that night- after an entire day of me crying and praying and missing class because I was so distraught at the thought of losing the one thing in this world I felt I could love- she said she was terminating training and repossessing my baby.
I never saw any evidence of the behavior and honestly things went downhill. I had called someone who trained huskies and the thing she said my husky did was a normal separation anxiety thing and she also said (and she rescues huskies) that the trainer had tried to socialize her and make her share too much with the other dogs too soon and had also wanted her to bond with multiple people at once and one trait huskies are known for is bonding individually. The trainer said some comments to me not even about the dog but told me “you don’t trust anyone” “don’t tell me how to train” “Find another trainer”. And then HER DAUGHTER got on me.
I lost about $1,000 and I have a disability that’s already expensive and do you have any idea how hard it is to get $1,000 at a minimum wage job DURING school AND while dancing? (and the dancing is to help me get a job that might work better for my PTSD and make it more manageable.)
TRY BEING ANOREXIC AND WORKING IN THE CAFETERIA. I DARE YOU.
It’s all I could find though, because employment around here is RACIST. I don’t care what they tell you, if I have to paint my skin brown in order to have a job, that’s RACIST. Also if you look Polynesian already, they will hire you even if you know nothing, but if you are white you have to come in with experience or you don’t have a chance. So I spent almost a year taking classes and joined a halau and I’m performing and competing but even with that I know that my skin color will determine who gets the job and who doesn’t.
I will even have to dye my hair which is a heritage. It’s brown red and very curly. I have to dye the highlights and keep it as dark as possible and I have to straighten it or braid it and make it bushy. I have to paint my skin 2 shades darker and tan.
And all this, just so I can dance.
The sacrifices I made to come to this school, and the sacrifices I have to make to even try to level the playing field, are just….
When I held that dog in my arms and took her home from the shelter, I felt like I had hope. I could see a spark of what life could be like, how she could help me manage this debilitating condition, and my moods were so NORMAL and so much BETTER. I had a moment of hope.
And it was torn from me the next moment.
I’d like to inspire you and say I got right off my butt and started working on getting a husky and trainer here but right now I feel disabled not by anything but doubts. I’ve never felt more lost or more alone.
I wish I’d never met her. It’s cliche but true. When something is gone for a long time, you grow accustomed to it’s loss. I don’t cry when I talk about losing my dog Angel anymore. But when you hold in your hands hope, only to have it torn away so soon, I feel as though my life’s blood is draining from me. The fire of my resolve gutters. The darkness is close.
Part of me is fighting, telling me to start contacting trainers on island and learn more about dogs and prepare a place for a dog that is certain to come- but where is a disabled, young college student going to find the money? I have no idea. This had felt like the perfect answer.
So where is your favorite blogger?
She’s in her room. The gentle ocean breeze blows through the window. A pueo calls from the shadowy ulu tree.
Too sad even for tears, she curls up on a sleeping mat with only her emptiness to cradle in her arms. Dark dreams. She cries out only in the tears that flow from her eyes in sleep.
For now all I have that I can do is just keep breathing and try to get out of bed in the morning. My grades are falling. I’m losing my temper all the time at work. I’m considering dropping out of school. This type of phase usually passes but there is always a price that must be paid before it can end. Maybe in a week or so, I will be able to write an inspiring piece about how I got back up and got to work, but for now I’d just like to have the energy to brush my hair. To get out of bed in under 2 hours. The littlest things are my Mount Everest.
Everyone feels this way at some point. The good part about writing about it is that when I do write that next post, and maybe someday write a post about my new wonderful service dog husky, you’ll start to believe in miracles again.