I feel so ashamed. It’s an unusual feeling because I don’t do things that might make me feel shame, so if do something where I maybe I should feel ashamed, I just don’t. Still, I’m anxious writing this because I’m mortified with embarrassment. But I’m told I shouldn’t feel this way, so maybe if I make this public confession where I’m feel ashamed of my weakness I can redeem it with this tidbit of bravery.
The last few months have been very hard for me. I have no idea why, but in late November I became depressed. It got worse and worse and the weeks wore on. By mid-December I was barely getting out of bed, much less the apartment. I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was part of the depression that’s a co-morbidity with my neurological deal. Maybe it was a bad case of the seasonal disorders (aptly called SAD). Was it related to Dr. Waffles’ death in September? In the past, when melancholia came on, I’d read Marcus Aurelius and go for my 12-mile runs and wait for the darkness to pass. But this time “Tears of a Clown” thing was seriously degenerating into some kind of pathetic thing where I alternated between sleeping or crying all day. The only thing that helped was my new puppy, Johnny Cash. While his energy was often overwhelming, I had something, someone, on whom to focus my attention. My adorable puppy didn’t allow me to sink into total self-absorption. He needed attention, he needed affection, and curling up next to his small warm body was my days’ saving grace.
Still, the pain kept getting worse. I’d look at the expiration dates on my yogurt and Amazon returns and fantasize about beating them to the finish line. On New Year’s Eve, things felt so dark I was enticed by the idea of ending my pain before 2023 reared its horrifying head. I’d hidden a stash of disparate pills I’d collected over the years and I felt compelled to go get them and be done with the pain before midnight. But my puppy was curled up against my chest and he looked so sweet and peaceful I just couldn’t wake him up. I drifted off to sleep and when I woke up it was 2023 and my morbid momentum was dispelled.
But January was still a deep, dark well and I couldn’t see a light at the end of its dank tunnel. My husband spent most days just trying to keep me company, sitting next to me in bed, doing crossword puzzles or looking at karate videos on this laptop. Early one morning, when he was in the living room doing his daily stretching exercises, I literally came crawling out of the bedroom, crying, begging him to help me. But he had no idea what to do, and I didn’t want to let anyone know. I was so ashamed I didn’t tell anyone, save for one friend whom I’d helped when she was suicidal and I thought she wouldn’t judge me. I didn’t want to reach out to my friends. They had their own problems to deal with, and besides, I was so incredibly embarrassed I couldn’t stomach the idea of letting anyone know I’d sunk so low, in every sense.
Eventually I was diagnosed with severe depression. Apparently it’s not just a terrible personality flaw of mine. (I’m a big fan of the Stoics and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t measure up to Cato and Seneca’s good advice.) Later, I was told I had CPTSD — which sort of means that lots of trauma I’d ignored (or tried to) came home to roost. Anyway, I avoided forced hospitalization and was slowly convinced that my depression wasn’t just me being a weak a-hole but an actual condition beyond our control, like acne.
I eventually told a handful of friends. I didn’t want them to think I was ignoring their texts, emails or calls. I told them I was sorry I’d been unavailable, but that I was depressed and I’d be back to my sunny self soon. The support I received from my friends totally blew me away. I wasn’t ready to see anyone in person, or talk to anyone on the phone. Still, a few checked in every day, with just a line or two letting me know they were thinking of me. It meant so much, seeing they felt I was worthy of their time and trouble. They were like bright stars that gave me little lights of hope down there in the well. Slowly I began to feel a little better. After Johnny Cash had all his shots, I was able to take him out for walks around the neighborhood, take him to the dog park. Get some sunshine on my face after months indoors.
I actually felt happy on February 15th. It was a sunny day and Jeff was finally wearing the “Nice Jewish Boy” cap I’d bought him. Jeff, Johnny and I went out for a walk. I stopped in a store and Jeff suggested walking Johnny Cash around the block while I browsed. When we met on the street, I was a few feet away when Jeff let go the leash, thinking Johnny would jump up into my arms. I screamed in horror and tried to stomp on the leash to keep Johnny in place. Then it all happened in a moment. Jeff ran out into the street and brought Johnny Cash’s body to the sidewalk. “He’s gone,” he said.
You may think you’ve heard wailing. You may think you’ve seen “ugly crying”. You might even think you’ve seen someone kneeling on the sidewalk, sobbing uncontrollably. I’ve never seen what I did. Kneeling over his body, I screamed “No!” over and over again. “It can’t be true! IT CAN’T BE TRUE!” There didn’t seem to be any blood on him yet it was all over the sidewalk. I sobbed, “My baby, my baby!” Pedestrians kept bring me bottles of water. I think they didn’t know what do, they just wanted to help in some way. At one point, someone brought over a plastic bag to cover his body. I was in hysterical and also in shock. I rocked up and down over him, repeating the only prayer I knew by heart. As I said the “Shema”, I man knelt beside me and held my hand, trying to join me. “I’m not Jewish,” he said, “but I’ll try to join you.” It’s a short prayer and he joined me in the Hebrew the best he could.
After a half hour, maybe an hour, someone brought a box. The man who’d been holding my hand and praying with me picked up the box, and he and Jeff and woman with a bicycle walked us to the nearest vet. After 10 blocks, maybe 20 blocks, we came to a vet and they took the box. I was led into an empty room where I sank into the corner on the floor and kept sobbing. After a while, a vet came in and told me that he’d died immediately, that he hadn’t suffered. I didn’t want to leave the place. Apparently I kept saying I couldn’t leave my baby. I think at some point Jeff got us a cab. (I’d told him I could not bear to be on the street; I couldn’t bear to see someone walking a dog.) When we got home I went back to bed. Back to darkness. An even blacker black.
Right now, I can’t talk about how intense my grief was. I was incredulous at what Jeff had done. I had explained to him dozens of times how to wrap the leash around your hand and wrist, how dangerous it was for a dog to get loose on the city sidewalk. I had literally warned him about this not half an hour before he let go of the leash. I couldn’t wrap my mind around what Jeff had done. I couldn’t fathom my puppy was really gone. The puppy I loved so much, the little angel who’d saved my life on New Year’s Eve.
Not long before Johnny Cash was killed, he’d been curled up on my lap while I was getting a blow-dry. He nervously raised his little head, and I pet him, reassuring him that, “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Nothing’s going to happen to you on my watch.” But I broke my promise. His young life was cut short. It was so unfair. So horrible. I was consumed by grief and guilt. My monkey mind careened with endless “If only…” scenarios. The crying jags that seemed bad in December were now unbearable. I was prescribed Klonopin to tame things some.
The grief and guilt are still terrible. But I leave the apartment, sometimes I go places. With the help of my great friends at the Best Friends Animal Society I’m going to channel my lost loving into a rescue dog. He’s a black pup, like Johnny cash, and he’s coming all the way from Las Vegas. My prayer is that we will give each other the love we’ve miss. A home we both need.
Dearest dear Dixie,
Our hearts ache for you as we wish we had known early in December what your days were like and that you were in so much pain. We would never have judged you, as our love for you runs deep. Your heartache and tragedy are so profound and we ache knowing that you are going through this. The love that you give to others was there for you at each moment of tragedy…When Johnny Cash cuddled on New Years, Jeffrey by your side in bed, the incredible people on the street and the man praying with you. Others were there for you holding you up. Your love is being returned to you and I pray that you receive it as an acknowledgment of what an incredible, caring, kind, worthwhile woman you are. You are loved by so many! You are magical!
Our hearts are broken, but your new rescue sounds wonderful. Hoping that in time you won’t know who rescued whom … and you will both rejoice in new found love. You have our hearts and our love forever and always. ❤️Barbara and Steven
My sister had a tiny new kitten that she cherished. He was a delight to watch running around and playing with everything. One morning while she was exercising in the living room he ran under her foot just as she was coming down from a hop. He died instantly. She was beyond devastation. Adding guilt to the loss is unbearable. She contacted a woman who communicates with animal’s spirits. The woman told my sister that her cat knew he wouldn’t be with her long, that his spirit was needed for other people and that he doesn’t want my sister to feel any guilt. Part of his time with my sister was to remind her other cat the importance of play and interacting, which her other cat was doing more now that he was gone. I know Johnny knew how much you loved him. I’m so sorry for your loss and the renewed depression. I’m so glad you shared your story.
Your wisdom helps me so much. Your love saves me.
I am so sorry to hear about Johnny Cash but even more sorry about what you’re going through in general and with this. Dogs live such a short time in general but I know you were hoping to have a lot more with him.
I wish you peace; and grace.
Thank you, Curtis. xoxox
Hi Dixie, I can’t imagine the grief of loosing your babies, as I’ve never been a pet parent. That said, I do have depression, see a psychiatrist once a month and take 2 different depression meds to keep me going. I also see a psychotherapist every week.
I’m glad you’re getting medical intervention, as depression is a brain chemical disorder, not a moral failing. You are blessed with people who love you and extremely close and supportive friends. However, you would not have such dear friends if there really WAS “something wrong with you”.
Obviously you give off vibes that attract the right people.
That one person may have let you down, but as a fellow religious person, one must put their trust in GOD and not in man …. or men ;-)
Thank you for coming forward with your story.
You may not know who you’ve touched with this. They may also seek proper medical attention because of you.
You are GREAT DAME!
Francine xoxo
Francine, what an incredibly loving message. Thank you so much. xoxox
Dixie!!!! I’m so incredibly sorry for all that you have gone through!!! I send you so much love!!!!
Oh honey I’m so sorry to hear what you’ve been going through. You know I’m a fellow animal lover – they are family – and give us so many blessings. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of, and those, like me, who love you, understand and send all the positive mojo while holding space for you as you get better. Life is really hard and fur family loss is always tragic — I’m sending you tons of love and wishing you the best. I know I’m not nearby and am always running 100 miles a minute, but from where I am I’m thinking all good things and wishing you the best. The world is so much better with you in it, and I’m grateful for you. 💕
Thank you, sweet flower. I really, really appreciate your friendship and support.
Dixie – I haven’t seen you in years but still follow your adventures:!
Words cannot describe how sorry I am about the loss of your baby, Johnny Cash. I was reading your blog and literally gasped out loud. I want you to know as somebody who was voluntarily admitted to a psychiatric hospital that is never ever ever the wrong thing to seek help, and that you are so loved.
Thank you so much, Rachel. I’m overwhelmed by your kindness and sympathy.xoxo
Oh, Dixie… I am so sorry about the dark days and nights you have endured. I know you are also completely heartbroken about your sudden loss of your new pup, Johnny Cash. I am so proud of you for disclosing your depression, It gives me hope that others will not give up, and your bearing witness to your strength and honesty is an inspiration to me and also, I’m sure, to many others. There isn’t anything wrong with you, it’s just wonky chemicals. I have them, too. I know I haven’t seen you for eons, but I will always be on Team Dixie.
Thank you so much. This really means so much to me. Xo
Oh, sweetie. I am so, so sorry for your tragic loss. I’m also sad to hear you felt embarrassed about depression—I know few people our age who haven’t struggled with it to some degree, myself included. Sending you hugs from DC, along with the conviction that Dixie Laite was destined to have a dog from Vegas.
I love that. I think you’ll like his name too. Watch this space, as they say.
Hi Dixie, depression is such a stealer of joy and hope. Losing a pet is unbearable, even when they’re old and the loss is entirely predictable and not attributable to something done or left undone. Your friends and fans are rooting for you and can envision a happier time for you even when you can’t yet see it yourself. When we got our second dog, a rescue, I was still sad over the loss of our first. The first day she leaned against me as I sat next to her on the floor, and I said, “Oh, are you missing someone? I’m missing someone, too.” And that was it—the first day of our lives together.
Oh Kathy, I love what you said to your rescue. With your permission, I’m going to borrow that. It’s beautiful.
Dixie, thank you! Thank you for writing your truth, your experience with the darkness, and the tragic loss of your baby Johnny Cash! I have no words of comfort, no words to alter your state, I only have words to express the sorrow I feel and the courage I am witnessing in sharing your pain. Dame! You are quite the Dame! We met only once, and you were generous in sharing your birth mother story as I faced mine. I offer you distant love from another Dame, who will hold space for you and hope as you put energy and love into your new baby❤️
Thank you so much. Your kindness truly overwhelms me — and helps me.
Oh how much I love you. In any form presented, you’re enough. Please, keep reaching out. I’m always here for you and I see others truly love you too. I’m so proud of you for sharing and I too am sending you hugs.
Barbara, I wish you could know how much I love you and how much you have always meant to me. Thank you for writing this message. It means a lot.
Oh Dixie, I am so sorry you have been experiencing deep depression and such a tragic loss of your sweet little pup Johnny Cash. I will share with you that I have experienced deep depression too and had to take medication at one time. Mine was triggered by going off my thyroid medication incorrectly and being very angry at my husband and son. I tell you this so you know many of us go through very dark periods and we recover. And it takes help. And it takes love and perseverance. I support you in every way I can from my compassionate heart. I also am willing to share things that have helped me if you want. Sending you much love, dear Dixie ❤️❤️❤️
Joan, I’m so touched you took time out to read my post and to leave me such a compassionate response. You caring means everything to me. THANK YOU.
My dearest Dixie. You know I am heart broken for you. I am having trouble typing because I am crying.
Frank, I’m so sorry. I would never want to make you cry.
Oh, Dixie. I am so, so sorry. Crying reading this and thinking about your sweet puppy. And the Shema. Sending all the strength and support I can. I hope your new rescue brings joy.
Thank you, Jen. I really appreciate it. Xo
Dixie, I wish I could send back all the radiant love and joy you’ve shown to me over the years. I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I am so glad that Johnny Cash was there, and Jeff was there, and the New Yorkers who rally on the street were there to help hold your grief. You are surrounded by love and I hope you feel it. ♥️
Melissa, you’re a beautiful person and I really appreciate your message.