Around the Block

By: 
Joe Block

Anna is stressed because there is a chicken roosting outside her window.

My dog takes Prozac.

In fact, she needs Prozac.

I’m open with the fact that my dog is antidepressants, and it’s usually met with an “awww,” or curiosity. My dog--Anna--always gets a few extra friendly scratches when people find out. She enjoys it, but sometimes she cowers, which is just one of the things the Prozac is for.

Anna has always been a unique dog. She was found in the winter, wandering in the cold with a vicious Heartworm infection, abandoned for some unknown reason, like many strays. Madison College’s excellent veterinary technician program nursed her back to health over the spring and put her up for adoption. Anna, a kind, 20 pound Beagle, was the last dog to be adopted. No one understood why.

I had been looking for a dog for a while, being very particular (I knew I wanted a Beagle), and my connection with Anna was instant. They put a chair out for me and brought Anna in; she happily wagged her tail and I gently scratched her under the chin. A little bit of cowering started, and I sat on the floor. She sat in my lap.

When I got home with her, I started to understand why she was unique. As I assembled her crate (which would turn out to be her safe space) she stood in the corner of the room, visibly nervous. She still does this when there is activity in my apartment: putting away groceries is especially hard for her, as is washing dishes, taking out the garbage, and especially sweeping the floor.

Although Anna is definitely a Beagle--stubborn, energetic, always sniffing and exploring--she is perhaps happiest when she is curled up next to me. Part of her has to be in contact with me, and luckily sitting in my lap only happens when she’s nervous. Evenings on the couch are a time of calm, and I’ve learned I need to dim the lights to ease her anxiety.

About a year and half ago I began working from home. This was a radical change for her, as I had worked in Madison for the past nine years during the day. Remarkably, she has no separation anxiety, and is quite happy to wander the apartment when I’m gone, even for a full day or two.

But working from home didn’t agree with her. She needed her space and quiet.

I am not a loud worker by any stretch of the imagination. My office is also my bedroom, so Anna has the rest of the apartment to herself. When it’s not below freezing the door to the balcony is usually open, so she can sit outside and concentrate on keeping track of squirrels.

After the first month or so of working from home, Anna began to randomly stare off into space, standing motionless in the middle of the room--for 10, 20, 30 minutes at a time. This was something she had done before, when stressed, but never to such a degree. Soon it graduated into hiding under my desk and shaking. Then it became hiding under the couch, only her rear end visible, shaking uncontrollably.

One of her unique qualities was an incessant desire to go outside when stressed. She wouldn’t “do” any “duty”; she would just stand and stare. This would happen every 15 minutes or so for hours on end. Once I began working from home, this went on all day.

Finally, I took her to the vet and having done some research, suggested antidepressants. Anna’s vet sees her frequently, and she was aware of the behavior. Anna began taking her Prozac. Within weeks, she was not only back to normal, but even better. As I type this, on World Mental Health Day, she is calmly dozing next to my desk, something she never would do before taking the medication.

There is a certain synchronicity to the fact that my dog is on Prozac, the very same medication I was on as a teenager. And that my dog needs medication for anxiety, a state of affairs that also applies to me as well. I delight in telling people this fact. People love it.

But there’s a difference, too. A heartbreaking, unconscionable difference.

For every celebrity who bravely goes public with their mental illness struggles, there are countless more anonymous people who must remain silent about theirs.

We talk about “mental health awareness” and “eliminating the stigma” and pat ourselves on the back because we read with interest when Chrissy Teigen, Prince Harry, Russell Brand, and Ke$ha talk openly about their illness. Indeed, they are brave for being open and public.

But they have the privilege to be open.

They have health care--good health care--and money, and doctors. By being famous and public about their struggle, they get instant acceptance. Because they’re famous we say: “I understand.”

Would we really say “Prince Harry,” I’m not comfortable being around you? Just “get over it?”

But what about that person in your office who is often out sick, battling with management over mental health accommodations, accommodations which are certainly legal, but often only in theory and not practice. And that is the case only if they choose to inform management. It is, of course, illegal to fire someone for mental health issues--in theory.

What about the high school student who is suffering silently because they don’t yet have the skills to talk to someone about their mental health problems, and even if they do, they are now that kid who is special. That kid with a 504 (EXPLAIN THIS). That kid who is “just being a teenager.”

What about that person--and they are around you--who often thinks about suicide, and would love to reach out. Do you think they’d tell you even if they felt comfortable doing so? Regardless of whether they feel comfortable, they have no idea if you will feel comfortable.

Stigma is real, and it is pervasive, and “awareness” is not simply accepting celebrities withe mental illness. True awareness is accepting every single person and their struggle, no matter their fame.

In a July 2, 2013 tweet, apparently serious Presidential candidate Marianne Williamson said the following: “Feds say 1 in 10 Americans on anti-depressants. Not a good sign. This is not a time in American history for any of us to be numbing our pain.”

This is Marianne Williamson, of course, but the problem is that her dismissal of mental illness is not unique.

Consider the following 2019 Harris/American Psychological Association poll of 1006 adults in the U.S.:

87 percent think having a mental health disorder is nothing to be ashamed of.

84 percent think people with mental health disorders can live normal lives.

That’s good, correct? But if you look at the data this way, it’s not:

27 million people in the U.S. think having a mental illness is something to be ashamed of.

33 million people in the U.S. think people with mental health disorders cannot live normal lives.

And:
81 million people would view someone differently if they knew they had a mental illness.

69 million people say, “People with mental health disorders scare me.”

The idea of mental health awareness must be radically rethought and reducing the stigma of mental health struggles has failed as long as many tens of millions of adults feel this way.

Let’s go back to Anna and her Prozac.

She still has her bad days, because medication is never a cure all. Sometimes I have to curl up with her on the bed, wrap her tightly up in a blanket, and hold her for a half hour or so. Anna doesn’t leave home much, because being someplace new with strangers can set her back, causing her to not eat for a few days. I very consciously care for Anna’s mental health--and spend a fair amount of time doing so--and visitors and friends are always more than happy to adapt to her peculiarities. Complete strangers we encounter on our walks show incredible understanding.
Why can’t we extend the same acceptance and care people have for my dog’s emotional needs to people with the same needs?

Login Help

Thank you for visiting the new website. For your initial login, please use the following:

Username: Your current Star News username
Password: Please also use your username as your password

Once you successfully login, you can change your username. Thank you.