There was a split second there where his like, “wait, what? bro what are you doing?”
On more serious note, PTSD dogs for veterans are so fucking therapeutic. They’re like the one person you can spill your guts to and never worry about ever being judged or have that secret divulged. There are times when I definitely prefer the company of a dog over a human.
Therapy animals save lives.
These dogs are even still so much more amazing. They check rooms before their handler enters, so they can clear it to help the person feel safe. Like in the gif, they are there when panic attacks or nightmares occur, to be something for the person to help ground themselves on, or yes just to turn on the lights. Even more amazing, many people are able to reduce their medication when they have a PTSD service dog there to help them. These dogs are useful for not just veterans, but also victims of abuse, accident trauma, natural disasters, and others. Their training allows them to be useful in situations where medical assistance is needed, as well. Some PTSD dogs are trained to recognize repetitive behaviours in handlers, and signal the handler to break the repetition and stopping the behaviour and possibly injury.
Service dogs in general are just awesome. Remember to respect any that you see out in public. They are not there for you to walk up to and play with, even the puppies!
I was reading an article of a service dog helping a person with schizophrenia. she stated that when she was seeing or hearing things and notices the dog is not reacting in any way, then she is able to ground herself, realizing what she was experiencing was not real and could work through it easier and is more able to ignore the delusions. And she pointed out she feels more comfortable with a service dog as well because well, dogs don’t judge and get angry for things like this
I teared up about this whole post to be honest.
i’ll never not reblog this post. it is so important.
I cried a little about this
Remember when the media convinced everyone that wearing a hoodie was a statement of a person’s moral integrity and worldly value and not, as previously thought, a good way to avoid catching hypothermia. That was a hoot.
Watching Love Actually and eating Ben & Jerry’s because unrequited love fucking stinks
I’ve never met Robin Williams. Given recent news, that statement is a touch questionable grammatically. It should read: I never met Robin Williams. Shockingly, suddenly and heartbreakingly, the possibility of doing so no longer exists. Reports are suggesting that Robin Williams committed suicide. Some will have heard that news and thought - huh? Famous - check. Wealthy - check. Popular - one hell of a check. He was a beloved, successful, and outrageously entertaining man. An avuncular figure. Apparently, he was also suicidally depressed. And that’s what I’d like to talk about.
Depression is often an invisible illness. For me, it wasn’t a sadness. It was an absence of feeling, a total emptiness. While it had been festering for years, it really kicked off during my first year of university. I gained about three stone, lost all of my self-respect and generally ended the year as the most miserable I had ever been. It was gloriously sunny Saturday afternoons spent hidden under a blanket ignoring, resenting, and loathing the laughter of my flatmates. It was an almost total surrender of my academic pursuits; why bother with an essay when you probably won’t be alive to graduate? It was a complete lack of ability to see any kind of future for myself, let alone a happy one. I had lived twenty years of feeling ugly, talentless and stupid, and being told I was fairly attractive, talented and intelligent by my friends did absolutely nothing to counteract this overriding self-image. I speak in the past tense because very recently my mental health has taken a much needed up-swing. I started to feel attractive, promising, and intelligent - probably for the first time since I was about twelve.
People have asked me - but why? Why did you feel that way? I grew up in a, save for a brief wobble, reasonably wealthy family. I’d never worried about money, had serious health issues, suffered any devastating losses, or been abused. I had close friends, dreams for the future and much more on my side.
The point I’m reaching for here is that there can be no reason whatsoever. Depression, often cited as stemming from a chemical imbalance, can be entirely irrational. From someone else’s perspective, I was a problem-free adolescent who needed to get a grip. From mine, I was trying to run a marathon with a broken leg. It can be too irrational to understand, and too irrational to explain.
We have no idea what Robin Williams was going through internally, but one thing is for sure - the death of this beloved and successful man is absolutely terrifying.
We need to talk about depression. Openly, and without shame or stigma. We need to know the symptoms, recognise the symptoms and extend a friendly hand. I’m linking this article filled with my shame and self-loathing to my twitter account, where people I know in actual real life and see on a daily basis will quite possibly read it. Because above all, more than I want to shake off the label of ‘the depressed girl’ that I feel has been stamped across my forehead for the past few years, I want to join in the discussion.
RIP, Robin Williams. Your contribution to cinema and to the lives of many will be missed.
If you thinking taking seflies is immature and stupid, just get out okay.
All through my adolescence I fucking hated how I looked and hated people taking my picture and that’s no way to live because then you look back and realize you have no pictures of yourself.
So if girls today have enough self esteem to take a picture of themselves and post it for their friends, that’s awesome. So much better than them never wanting their picture taken.