I have heard so many good things about weighted blankets for people with GAD or Panic Disorder. I’ve heard that they help calm nighttime anxiety and help with falling asleep. I didn’t really believe all of this until I got Dobby. I like to call her my weighted pillow. She often sleeps on top of my legs or stomach, easily putting on an extra 14 pounds to my body. I sleep really well with her laying on me. And this may just be a coincidence, but she often hops on top of me when I wake up in a panic and kind of knead her paws on my chest, arms, or stomach. While my boyfriend was visiting he remarked on how she’s kind of like a weighted blanket, which must have inspired my Christmas present this year. It has done wonders to my sleep and mood. I’ve said before that my insomnia has a huge influence on my moods. So, of course, with better quality sleep, I’ve had more stability in my moods.
First of all, I have a 15 pound Queen sized blanket from Weighted Idea. This is pretty ideal for me since I often find myself underneath my dogs as well, which easily adds another 15 pounds. I believe he bought it on Amazon. The best thing about it is that it looks great with or without a duvet cover! It can be machine washed, air dried, and it’s just the right size for my bed.
Now, enough raving about the blanket itself. My sleep has gotten significantly better. Within 15 to 20 minutes after getting under the blanket, I begin to feel drowsy. The weight feels kind of like a hug and it just makes me feel safe and tucked in. I sleep more pleasantly, and the weight seems to calm me as the thoughts race.
Panic attack wake ups have dropped significantly in the past few weeks. Previously, I would have several panic attacks a night while sleeping, but, I’ve seen less and less of that with my blanket. I wake up feeling more refreshed, and I wake up less often during the night as well. The last panic attack I had was when I didn’t have the weighted blanket on me, because one of the dogs vomited on it during the day. The difference between having it and not having it was significant.
I know there may be a possibility for a placebo effect but if you’re struggling with falling and staying asleep, investing in a weighted blanket may really help. But I always suggest people to see a doctor about any symptoms of sleeplessness. Many people that I’ve spoken to have expressed their frustrations on how they do not get enough or good quality sleep. It’s a frustration that I share, and admittedly, must be medicated for. Prolonged sleeplessness or poor sleep quality was so detrimental to me, that I wasn’t able to handle the slightest amount of stress or difficult emotions.
Another way that I have improved my sleep quality is applying blue light filter
Anyone that knows me personally, knows that my two dogs are my life. For some, it seems a bit strange why I would devote so much of my time, love, attention, and financial resources towards these animals. “They’re just dogs,” they’ll say. But, to me, someone that lives alone and away from my family, they’re not “just dogs” they are my family, and I take care of them because it brings me happiness and purpose.
The two dogs that I have in Korea are both special in their own way. My first dog I ever got on my own was Misha. I was 25, and it was my first year away from home in Korea. My sister and cousin were visiting and I was still absolutely clueless about everything. I couldn’t read Korean, I definitely couldn’t speak it, and I was still in deep culture shock. At the time, I was still new, had no friends, and experiencing some severe homesickness. I missed my dogs back home, but also was lacking in purpose while living in Korea. Every week would be just working and then being alone at my apartment on the weekends. It was getting harder and harder to justify the reason why I wanted to move abroad. I wanted to experience a new way of life and a new lifestyle.
It was a January day, and my sister, cousin, and I were heading up to Seoul for a weekend of sightseeing and shopping. I was scrolling through Facebook when I came across a post on the local expat page asking for help with fostering or adopting an abandoned dog. She was emaciated and she looked so scared. Something about her eyes really drew me in. I am not usually an impulsive person, and I fully understand all the work it takes to take on a pet, since we had two at home. I couldn’t stop thinking about her all day. Finally, I sent a message to the poster to inquire. We set a time to meet, and the moment our eyes met, I knew I was a foster failure.
The day I took her home
My poor emaciated baby was sick with heartworm and had some severe allergies to chicken and other ingredients in dog food. She was in and out of the vet’s office for the first 6 months of her life with me. I found out she had just had a litter of puppies that were no where to be found, and that she was still producing milk. I was so lucky to have met such warm and wonderful people and veterinary professionals that helped me get the treatment that she needed. The treatment for her stage of heatworms was expensive and dangerous, but the kind veterinarian that she was brought into donated the treatment to Misha because she was so happy that she found a home with me. I lucked out so hard, because Misha came potty trained!
The following months were spent trying to get this emaciated pup back to health without putting her body under too much stress after the intense heartworm treatment. The first night she was home, she crawled straight into bed with me, and laid with me under the covers. Every night since then, she has done the same thing.Â
Having Misha the first year in Korea, not only helped my loneliness, but helped me make my life about more than just what I can gain from it, and how I can live more fully. It became about how I can be happy and incorporate my love, Misha, into my social life. Slowly, but surely, my social circle grew, as I became acquainted with other dog lovers I worked with. She was the first dog ever adopted by a teacher at my branch, and everyone was thrilled to come by and have some play time with her. I felt more and more like I belonged, and I knew Misha was meant to be with me. Even now, when I look into her eyes, I still get that feeling I got when I knew I would become a foster failure. She has traveled back and forth with me numerous times, now. She’s an expert in travel, lived in five different homes with me and always adjusted alongside me. On January 5th, 2020, it will be 5 years since she came into my life. She will be about 8 years old and I know that she will still have many more years of joy and adventure.Â
On August 18th, 2019 Dobby came to Changwon to be with me. This was another instance of me scrolling through the animal rescue pages on Facebook. I know that I should really just quit them or hide notifications for them, because getting Dobby was not something I ever anticipated. The most striking thing about Dobby was her story. I found so many parallels in her story with Misha’s that I somehow just felt that they would fit just fine. She was abandoned in a studio apartment when the tenant moved out and took her newborn puppies with her. Veterinarians estimated that she had given birth perhaps a week or two before being found in the studio apartment alone. She wandered the streets before being taken into a dog shelter in a city called Gimje. The city is around a 3 hour drive from mine, and, logistically, I had no idea how I would ever arrange to get her. The rescue program that posted her volunteered to drive her down to me if I wanted to foster or adopt. I was more interested in fostering and testing to see if Dobby would get along with Misha. The moment she stepped out of he carrier, Misha and Dobby sniffed each other and acknowledged each other’s presence very calmly. I looked into Dobby’s eyes, and I knew that, once again, I failed as a foster. She was mine forever.Â
These two dogs cheer me up when I’m sad, cuddle with me when I’m cold, and try to lay on me when I’m feeling anxious. They are the core of my current social circle, and these dogs give me strength to care for them and walk them. Strength that I am more than willing to spend on them, but sometimes have a hard time spending on myself. Walking with them is a win-win. We both benefit, and the cuddles after our walks are perfect. And since I’m up, I just go ahead and take care of myself too. It makes it easier to get to work, because I know that at the end of the day, I’ll be with them again.
Not everyone is an animal person, and I am definitely not going to say that my dogs “cured my mental health issues” but they definitely help me practice grounding, patience, and unconditional love.
With that being said, I have been seriously considering going through a training program with them and making them my emotional support animals. There’s a huge difference between ESAs and actual service animals, but I definitely would like to learn more about how my dogs can help me in my road to healing.
I studied Psychology, as well as Asian Literature and Languages during school. My intimate relationship between understanding the human mind and also the culture of my surroundings tore me apart as I overthought what would “getting help” actually mean here in Korea. I had no idea. Although I have lived here on and off since 2014, it had never been this bad. I had never felt this unstable. I had never felt so lost.
The day I decided enough was enough was another day where my boyfriend and I were trying our best to adjust to our long distance situation and have a “date.” We spend hours doing an activity together, and talking. At this point, it was a 50/50 chance that the date ends in a disagreement or in total disaster where some insecurity, some fear, some sort of overthought belief would consume and take over what was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon together. At the worst of my anxiety, I thought to myself, “Wow, how much longer until I lose it again? How much more can we hang on to this if I can’t even hang onto myself?” And with every passing day, I felt like I was losing myself to panic and anxiety more and more.
That Sunday was a normal Sunday. It was a beautiful spring day, and I remember observing that the cherry blossoms were hanging on to their last thread. I remember looking out the window as I slowly spun out of control. I started to unravel, and the moment it starts to unravel, it feels as if I float out and away from myself. Depersonalization. Heading down that nasty road of not being connected but still aware, my boyfriend started to argue with me, and eventually pleaded with me to please, find help, he was going to go to lunch with my family, and if I couldn’t find help, he’d take matters into his own hands, and get me some help int he form of an intervention involving my family. Boom. Lost it. I remember hanging up and I remember desperately trying to hang on to my control as I spun out again and again, falling over, and knocking into my furniture. I stumbled around my little apartment as if I was a zombie. Trying to find a way to stop the panic and finding nothing, panicking further. I remember begging him not to tell my family of my struggles, I remember telling them I don’t want them to worry. He said that it wasn’t about them worrying about me, it was about me getting better and help, and I needed it. I hung up again feeling that same feeling of needed relief from the panic and being wracked with guilt.
Now, the worst thing about describing all this is that I know where it’s going. Having been very interested in the human mind, I think I know a bit too much about it for my own good. Self-harm is not a fun route to go down, especially for someone who knows that it does nothing but make you feel worse than before. And it’s an uncomfortable place that my mind, admittedly does go to during panic mode. I am full of guilt and shame for what I have done to myself during these panic attacks, but I’ve been told that I should not be afraid to talk about it. I should not be silenced because this is a real, actual thought that comes into my mind. At the height of my panic in the early Spring, I remember thinking “The only way to stop this panic, is to distract myself with another sensation.” Self-harm isn’t always in the form of slashing and cutting, for me… when I am anxious I beat my hands and fists into my wall, until the feeling of pain overcomes the feeling of my heart that is about to burst out of my chest. It became a habit. Bruises on my knuckles, swollen hands. And on that Sunday when I looked down at my hands in panic and all I saw was purple, blue, and green bruises around my fingers and knuckles… I knew my boyfriend was right. There is something terribly wrong, and I can’t pretend to be strong enough to do it alone.
First thing I did was I picked up my phone, and I called my Dad. He is, admittedly, the only person I want to talk to when everything goes wrong. I told him, “Dad, I’m scared, and I’m not happy. I am not well. I need to get help, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do it, and I’m scared.” Between all the sobbing, all my father could say was to tell me to come back home. I knew that wasn’t the solution. Going home wouldn’t solve the problem that anxiety had taken the driver’s seat of my life, and going home to hide in my parent’s house and “take a break” from working would solve nothing. I knew it would probably just reinforce the idea that when shit gets tough, I can just retreat and ignore it, and it’ll go away.
Enough was enough. I hit the Internet and typed out my first e-mail for consultation at an office in Seoul. The first step was to see if this was even going to be possible, but it was a step in the right direction.
Turbulent Mind 