Journal #95

This weekend has really, really sucked. I don’t mean that in a complaining sort of way, it’s just the truth. Emotionally, the past seven days have been ridiculously hard in just about every way possible. I should be studying for my anatomy test right now, (the last two of which I have failed-and yes, by “failed”, I mean I got an F) but I needed a quick break and decided to do a brief update.

My not even five year old dog, Rocky, short for “Rock Star”, which he was named as a tribute to my nickname in the eating disorder program (the first time around), is injured. Injured to the point that, without a miraculous turn around, he’s going to be put down on Friday. Rocky, the dog that I was promised when I was in the hospital, and my parents were offering me anything that would possibly motivate me to eat, and who I brought home the weekend I discharged from the program. Rocky, who’s been by my side since day one of recovery–who’s licked my tears away after every awful therapy session, who was there to give me kisses each time my exchanges were increased, who my mom and I walked around the block the first time I was finally cleared to walk again. Rocky, my best friend, is more than likely no longer going to be with us after Friday.

It’s impossible for me to type those words without breaking down. My entire weekend (and much of this last week, and the weekend before that) has consisted of tears and laying by Rocky’s side. No joke, the last two nights I’ve slept on the hardwood floor just so I could have my arm in his kennel. This weekend was the first weekend that I’ve ever been at home and he’s not slept in my bed, since I was fifteen years old.

So yeah, emotionally this weekend was rough. In addition to everything going on with Rocky, I’m supposed to be gaining weight and studying to the point where I can bring my grade up to a B (which is the only grade I’m really okay with, given that I think it’s pretty unlikely I could wind up with an A…). To put that into perspective, I’ll point out that I wasn’t doing too hot in this class BEFORE my best friend in the entire world (okay, all you non-dog people are probably rolling your eyes at me, but trust me–he’s my baby) became immobile to the point where he can’t bend his head down to drink water, and alternates between crying and yelping when we try to get him to go to the bathroom.

I know this post is sad. I like to think of this blog being uplifting and encouraging for the most part, but this is my reality right now and I wanted to do at least a small check-in. I’m still chipping away at my recovery, and God bless my incredible dietician, who has been meeting with me every other day to ensure my weight is doing what it should be, and reassuring me that I’m not going to gain ten pounds overnight. That being said, I am supposed to be gaining weight. Which is really, really hard, especially when I’m overcome with grief 95% of the time. I saw my therapist yesterday, which was good, but almost the entire session was spent talking about Rocky! I hardly have an appetite when I’m not emotionally distressed, let alone now. My exercise has been reduced to three days a week, and my exchanges have been increased. Were I not seeing my dietician so frequently, in conjunction with my mom being SO involved (yes, to the point of annoyance on my end!), I know I wouldn’t be moving forward. Actually, I don’t even think I’d be staying in the same place, I’d be going back.

Rock and me two summers ago at the beach

So yes, these past 7 days have been pretty sucky. I probably won’t post for the remainder of the week, because I really need to do my best to compartmentalize my sadness and just focus on anatomy for the next few days, in order to get through the rest of the term. I would really, really appreciate any and all prayers for Rocky, though.


In Him,



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