In August 2022, I had reached a point where I felt hopeless. Every day was a battle with my body and mind—with little to no reprieve. Nothing I was trying seemed to be making a difference.
My GP provided me with a mental health plan and referred me to a psychologist who specialised in supporting people living with chronic disease. I’ve now been seeing this psychologist consistently for over two years. During one of my initial visits, he presented the idea of writing about my experiences. I was not against the idea, but at that point I found it difficult to not intellectualise my experiences (just read Boom and Bust: why living with a chronic disease is like building a rocket ship…). Intellectualising allowed me to be a passive and emotionless observer of my circumstances, rather than the custodian.
At that point I wasn’t ready to feel. However, I did discovered that I could connect on a deeper level by personifying, (or anthropomorphising) my emotions as characters in short stories. I still wasn’t completely connecting with my emotions, but this approach felt less threatening, and allowed me to express things I would otherwise have difficulty openly communicating. A few weeks ago, I rediscovered one of my short stories titled Mindy. I wanted to publish this short story today because it reminded me that I hadn’t seen Mindy in a while. I hope she never returns. But if she does, I like to think I will rediscover this letter, like I did my original story, and that it might prove to be a timely reminder of her transience.
Today I took Mindy the black dog for a long walk. I hoped that I might tire her out and that she’d sleep for a few hours this afternoon. Unfortunately, she appears to have more energy than I would have liked. So I’ve sat down at the computer in the hope that not giving her the attention she crazes might result in her curling up for the night and giving me a moment’s reprieve.
I don’t remember when I first met Mindy. The more I think about it the more sure I am that she’s always been there. Sometimes she would appear on the horizon on a cold gloomy day, but now she prefers to stay close by my side. Sometimes she’ll slip into the shadows when others are around or if I really need to concentrate on something. Other times she won’t stop barking and I struggle to gather my thoughts. I wonder if anyone else hears her barks. Is the room as deafening for them as it is for me?
The city streets surge with an aimless conviction, but their chaos is sometimes euphoric as Mindy often gets distracted by the sights and smells. Every few blocks I slip into the alley way to catch a breath. But this is when Mindy pulls on her lead the hardest - in the quiet I do not find solitude. Only Mindy’s echoing bark. So I must dance between the city street’s exhausting madness and the alleyway’s deafening one note orchestra.
I have started talking to a dog expert recently, hoping that I might understand Mindy better. He said that one day Mindy might go, but I don’t know what life without Mindy looks like. I have become so accustomed to the brush of her hair against my leg on every step, her bark resonating in my ears and the attention she demands. I know that she might go, it will be for the best, but I don’t know how. I use to be able to throw the stick into the distance, maybe somewhere really difficult for her to find and return, but now I am exhausted. The stick remains on the ground and Mindy by my side.
I really loved this short story Tim! I’m glad to hear mindy hasn’t been around for a while too
Thanks for introducing us to Mindy Tim :)