When I had just turned 17, that summer I was raped by my "best friend's" 22 year old boyfriend. I was devastated and heartbroken. I didn't feel like I had the power to say no, and I hated my life because of it. I entered my senior year of HS essentially alone, with this large glooming secret over me and constantly remembering that I'm a slut and a ***** and everything else that he told me. A combination of that and of 6 AP classes and band and feeling alone and everything else all added up to me being very depressed. So depressed that on one day, January 24th (will be 3 years from now in a couple days), I took a gun from my parent's room while they were at work and I locked myself in my room with it. Miserable and depressed, I held the gun straight to my head and prepared to shoot myself and end my life. Mere seconds before I did, my dog, the one in the picture, was frantically scratching my door, whining, and demanding to be let in my room. I broke down. Hard. I know it sound stupid but I felt love for the first time in a long time. That if I died, my dog would miss me, even if no one else did. So I put the gun down and loved my dog. Since then, my puppers has been my support force and he's always been there for me. Since then, I have only considered suicide once, but never attempted again. He is my rock and my support and I would do anything to help him. But he's 8 years old now, and I'm terrified of how I'm going to feel when he dies. So my motivation is to help dogs like him, who mean the world to people, who have saved us in so many ways, and who love us whole heartedly every day.
when it's a kitten that was sick and/or hissing at me days or weeks earlier.
