New dx is complex ptsd. It means I couldn’t handle childhood. Wasn’t given safety or had needs met, I guess. So they say.
So I have a dog, Blue, a basset hound. He was abused, too, and I’m trying to treat him like I was supposed to have been treated. I look in his eyes, not at them. He has one blue and one brown eye, a lot like me: Not quite right.
Today Blue was scared, and I don’t know why. I wanted to say to him, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, dog. Sit here and calm down.” Then I thought about what I wanted when I was scared and little. Blue’s on my lap now, calming down, maybe sleeping. He’s too big for my lap, but then oh well. I told him I loved him and would always protect him. It felt really awkward.