The following contains mention of sensitive subjects such as difficult nightmares and thoughts of suicide that may be triggering to some audiences.

In the 45 years I’ve been seeking help for my mental health conditions of depression, anxiety, borderline personality disorder (BPD) and complex-PTSD, I have been in and out of dozens of therapists’ offices and on hundreds of different medication prescriptions. I have meticulously followed every recommendation from every professional (several times to my detriment), and yet I have not experienced significant reduction of my symptoms. External life events indicate outwardly-facing successes: a full-ride scholarship to college, Phi Beta Kappa, editor of a law school journal, clerked for the Ohio Supreme Court and had my own law practice (to work around the various degrees in which my emotional difficulties impacted my daily life). Yet, through all of these events, I was inwardly experiencing so much suffering that, many times, I have so desperately wanted the pain to end that I wanted my life to end.  

The world, the government, medical and religious communities, and even friends and family, seem to have compassion for external pain and physical disabilities, bringing financial resources and “casseroles,” which I applaud. In my experience, the great majority of these same circles turn their backs on emotional pain in a way that is beyond comprehension. In the general world, I have to “feel my way” around a person to see if they are safe to talk to. There are no government resources for my emotional disability since I am considered to be “high functioning,” and there is obscenely little government-funded medical research on the borderline brain to discover pharmacological and/or other medical treatments.

BPD is a health condition recognized in the Diagnostic Statistics Manual that doctors are to use to diagnose and treat medical conditions. Yet, an emergency room doctor once told me, “Well, you can’t expect me to know anything about borderline personality disorder!” And, why is that? Ten percent of us die by suicide. Maybe I’m missing something. There’s a new trend to say, “Mental health care IS health care,” but I say, “Why is, or, why has there ever been a differentiation? My brain is not working the way it works in others without these conditions; since when was my brain not a part of my body!?!”  

Even though research has established that there is “something” (we don’t yet know what) different with the way the logical side of my brain (my cortex), is or is not connecting to the very intense “fight or flight” part of my brain (my amygdala), psychiatrists often don’t correctly diagnose it, and medical insurance does not usually cover the complete treatment which adheres to the over 20 years of research establishing it as being the most effective treatment for those struggling with suicidal thoughts and behaviors. I’m pretty sure, if there were new forms of cancer which had an evidence-based pharmacological or surgical treatments, 20 years would not go by before that treatment was used and covered in some substantial way by insurance, even though there wasn’t enough research to say why the person had that form of cancer.  

My whole life I have believed untruths about myself and have repressed memories of childhood abuse (i.e. I avoided talking or even thinking about them) to the point of creating problems with my memory, especially of my more traumatizing experiences. In early 2023, I began experiencing horribly frightening nightmares where someone is trying to kill me or torture me. I would wake up yelling, “Don’t kill me! Stop! Don’t hurt me!” Most mornings I wake up terrified, full of dread of facing another day of pain.  

No, I do not have a Social Security determination that I am “disabled” and organizations that offer service animals usually do require this determination. This means that the person must have a physical, emotional or mental disability that substantially limits at least one major life activity. When I was being evaluated for acceptance to a service dog foundation and described the daily emotional torture I was enduring, they readily saw I was battling a disability every day of my life, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.  My depression was weighing me down with my beliefs about myself. My anxiety left me living in fear in every aspect of my life, my work, friends, marriage, etc. My borderline personality disorder gives me extremely intense emotions, what they call “heightened reactions”, and I would sob or explode in rage over little things that others would barely notice.  My service dog interrupts my PTSD nightmares by putting his head and front paws on my waist, and when I begin to cry he puts his head in my lap if I’m sitting, or against my leg when I’m standing, but it’s having a living thing that unconditionally loves me 24/7 which makes a profound difference in my life. I do not know what I would do without him. I believe that the Lord brought my disability service dog into my life to save my life and I am so grateful!