Harley?

Is the definition of my latest manic episode. Last week when I finally got to see my new Psychiatrist I might have possibly been bragging about how I don’t have many manic episodes anymore.

Enter puppy.

Getting her was a totally spontaneous (and expensive) decision. I suppose I thought like some married couples having trouble do- that maybe having a kid (puppy) will make things better! Maybe I’ll be able to get out of bed before 3pm to take her out! Maybe taking her for walks will help me shed off the 50 lbs I’ve gained over the past year on meds! Maybe she’ll give me motivation and something to look forward to every day!

Wrong. Wrong. & Wrong.

It’s harder than ever to get out of bed. After a few hours of having her, I got totally depressed and swear (shamefully) to you that I locked myself in my room leaving my mom to take care of pup. I’ve been up & down since.

Today someone came to look at her and hopefully will take her home tomorrow. It’s so sad for me to think about, even though I know she’s going to be in a good home. I sorta feel like everything I do in life… ends up in regret. And I wish I could be the person who says they don’t regret anything because they’ve learned from mistakes, but alas, not only do I never learn, I just end up falling into a depression.

And repeat.

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