Now, I left school or was dropped academically, partially due to my own faults and partly due to depression, so I went to live in my brother’s place while I decide on a plan, recover, deal with that, and try again. One night, on a Sunday night, I stayed up, got a beer, and smoked marijuana. My brother then comes from sleep and tells me to stop drinking his beer. I ask what’s wrong, he says dont drink my beer. I thought he had the best intentions in mind and assured him that I won’t turn into an alcoholic. Then he says I’m in his house eating his food, drinking his beer, while he was sleeping and was supposed to go to work. He had issues of his own, and he did not see me as an added stressor. I asked whether this is a fear that I might develop a bad habit. He says I’m just drinking his beer and spending his money and eating his snacks. He had had a get-together with his work friends, and of course, since I was a guest in his house, as well, I helped, I assembled the pool table he had bought earlier, I vacuumed the place clean, cleaned fur off the couches, set up the drinks, put firewood together, etc. I helped in short order and made sure not to be an inconvenience. Since he usually went to work in the morning, I assumed the cooking duties and tried to at least make something or ask if I needed any food. Even when grocery shopping, when he suggested I pick up the beef, I objected because I understood that he was a bit stretched thin. I suggested bone-in chicken, cheaper by a mile. In all honesty, he did have some peanut butter-filled pretzels, a whole jar of them, and I did go to town on them, and for that I am sorry. It was wrong of me to eat everything that I didn’t buy, but I promise I will ask him if he wants me to pay him back. I’m sure everything he had done for me up to that point was out of empathy/the good of his heart. He’s my brother, of course, he should be there during times when I’m falling to lend a hand. But something must have clicked in his brain that day. I think he lost faith that day that I could be anything. I tried to pry information out of him as to the reason for this. I reminded him of my plan, and I was awaiting a committee decision from the UW that would drop classes and make it possible to return to school. I hadn’t dealt with my depression, nor was I in the process of doing better. I was on medication, and I read mental health books. I couldn’t afford therapy, but the constant pressure to generate income, be done with school piled by the moment. Within conversation with my parents and me, the question always pops up, “Whatever happened to your school? You used to be brilliant.” What do you mean by used to, am I not anymore? My plan wasn’t clear, let’s be honest. I was in a transitional period and arguably at the most difficult part of my life. Everything that I had worked for up to this point was falling apart. Most of it was rotten to the core, and I was waiting for it to fall over in order to assess and make a plan forward. I was on academic warning, and that summer, I had taken a class, and of course, I had amounted to a 0.0 gpa. So there it was, if my request was not approved by the committee, I would be officially academically dropped from the UW, so that was a perpetual fear I lived with. Anyway, he says he won’t be responsible for me and my fuck ups, and he threatens to send me home. At this point, I somewhat understand where he’s coming from. I wasn’t in the greatest shape, and my mental health wasn’t the best. It would make sense that he’s monitoring my alcohol intake, especially since he might be the one to be blamed for enabling it. This is all cope, however, because that wasn’t what he had in mind. He says, ” The beer and drinks are for my friends. We are colleagues and on the same level. They are grown men and women, and I respect them as friends; the beer was for them, not you. I won’t let you derail me/this family.” I was defeated, and I couldn’t say anything. I froze for the first time in a long time. Usually, I lash out and throw words, but this time, I said okay and went to bed and cried. I cried the hardest I have in memory. I felt betrayed. My brother had a roommate who had a dog named Phoenix. At the time, the roommate was gone and had left Phoenix’s care to my brother/us. He was supposed to sleep in his cage in the roommate’s room overnight, but I liked him, so I kept him in my room. Phoenix was on the floor as I cried in bed and felt betrayed. When I started facing my academic/depression issues and was desperately trying to fix it, I felt ashamed to admit it to anyone. I have always been strong academically, and this was a huge part of my identity, and I felt insecure to share it with anyone, or whenever I did, I always insisted that it wasn’t because I wasn’t capable. My brother was the first person I felt comfortable sharing this wth. He knew before anyone of my struggles. I trusted him that much. He felt like someone I could talk to, reason with, get ideas from, etc. I was hurt. Phoenix, for some reason, decides that he wants to sleep on the bed, right next to me. I feel him step on my thighs as he lies down facing my toes and places his head right next to my ankle. I felt comfort. Phoenix didn’t care I was stuck academically for two years; he didn’t care that my set goals were past due. He didn’t care that I hadn’t graduated on time; he wasn’t making remarks questioning if I was capable anymore. That was for me to worry about. I knew something was wrong; it was my mental health, and I was working towards resolving it. This wasn’t my norm, and I wouldn’t let it be. I am aware of the issues I’m facing, and I will work on something. I was letting the garbage decompose before planting. All I need is some time and support.  Phoenix, in one of my saddest moments, offered comfort and relief. I didn’t feel judged, incapable, or an inconvenience to his life. All he wanted to be was be around me. I didn’t even have a treat on me, so it felt that unconditional. That is why I am getting a dog.