The Story of Tegan

How do you measure a life? Before I tell you about the spring of 2009, I have to give you context of why it was so chaotic... To do this I have to start in the summer and fall of 2007. Chapter 1 - Origins HE was finally communicating with me, but in a way that made me feel crazy, and to cover his ass where I couldn't prove it. He had told my parents I was crazy, and they had taken me to get a psych check.

When I arrived the doctor recused herself when I told her the story, since she had been biased by my parents extreme overreaction believing a man they didn't know over their daughter. I was shattered. My heart had been ripped out of my chest and thrown on the floor for my parents to trample on. I had been living with my parents for the summer while I had a summer job at a law firm. My friend asked me to house-sit for her parents, and clearly I had to get out of a situation that was so dangerous for my mental health. The job had ended and left me with a nice nest egg, so I bought my first Macbook, packed my car and left. I was on the phone with a best friend from high school balling. I did not go home for Christmas that year after my parents did that. While house-sitting in a different city two hours away, I signed up for contract/ temp work and signed a lease on a cute little house. I started getting unreal disturbing calls. He used numbers with six digits that couldn't be returned, and said vile things to me. I wanted to escape the horrible reality of this life, but little did I know that it had not hit rock bottom yet. I escaped into a role play situation online where I met a nice guy, and HE was calling me a dirty bitch. I got messages as if he had looked through the front window to see what was on my kitchen table.

Then the economy crashed and the temp work dried up. I had to cancel the lease after 6 months, and move in with a friend for the summer. Then she moved across country for a teaching job, and ended the lease there. I moved into a house with a nurse from South Africa. After a few months, she got engaged and her family moved into the house to prepare for her wedding, so I was evicted again. I was literally homeless this year, and if it hadn't been for another offer to house sit that was on the market. I had already had to call the police while living with the teacher about HIM the first time. They told me without evidence there was nothing they could do, but keep creating a paper trail. I was applying for jobs. When I applied to a local coffee shop to be a barista, I saw a mutual friend with HIM, and then found out HE put in a word with them not to hire me, and so I began to be more and more suspicious. He reacted to a private message I sent to a friend about seeing a cute guy we knew, and after enough times I stopped asking IF he was hacking into my accounts reading my messages - combined with his attempts to stop me from finding a job to force me to be financial dependent on him. I finally found a crapy tourist retail job that paid less than I had made during the summers of high school - except I could apply in person on paper, with no digital trail for him to discover and sabotage me. During these years, my parents told me that speakng about HIM at all was forbidden, let alone talking about the trauma I was enduring. They blamed me for everything, as my brother learned from them how to do and be only critical of me. Thankfully I had started this job while having to move every three months. Finally I found low income flat I qualified for, and finally moved into my own place. I did not tell anyone the address during this move, after the crazy messages and calls while living in the house. I did not send my parents the address in email or by text or even over the phone. They met me at the previous house, brought the truck, and followed me in the car to the new place.

After the move, two days later HE was sitting outside on the street on a motorcycle watching. I went to get the camera but he was gone when got back to the window. I called the police, who of course would have needed the picture if I had been able to get it. They would not even force the mobile carrier to release to me where the calls were really coming from with these six digit numbers.

This was two years after the horrible heartbreak. I was numb and scared. There was a bomb scare at work and I was paranoid it was him. There was a dark cloud over me. I started seeing a therapist. But my friend had been to the place HE said he worked and was told he didn't work there, and thought I made it up! I finally went to a battered women's shelter who explained the technical tools he could use for the calls and gaining access to my computer. It was the first time someone believed me, and made me feel less crazy. I was so unhappy. I was fired from the crappy job where I was bored out of my mind and working with rural high school educated people who hated me. I started graduate school in the winter of 2009, qualifying for student loans, and this started a new chapter for me, and at least used my brain cells. I got an internship working for a politicial/ rep in the federal government.

And I started looking for dogs. I wanted a border collie mix, so we could be active together. I drove a few hours to a breeder where he had an older male dog, I did not connect with or feel anything for. I scanned the pet adoption websites, feeling like I wouldn't pass any of their rigid adoption requirements, and finding that the kinds of dogs I was looking for were snatched up quickly. I saw some puppies at a rural shelter a few hours away, and called. She told me to come over.

It was a beautiful spring day, so I decided to go for a drive through the countryside. I did get a bit lost and was a bit late getting there. She had planned on closing - the tiny facility was the local shelter, kennel, and groomer. She showed me the puppies, but couldn't tell me how big they would get or their temperament. She encouraged me to look in the kennels. There were only about 5 dogs in the shelter - the first was a rat terrier.

Then there was this little black and tan older puppy/ young dog, with one eye. I squatted in front of her, as the lady told me her story. At four months, people saw a group of dogs attacking her and intervened to save her, brought her to the shelter where the vet cared for her.

She was a bit timid, peeing with excitement when she saw me, like my previous spaniel, and I wasn't excited about that. I was concerned about the trauma. Did she have PTSD? Were there psychological issues with having one eye?

Grooming customers came so the lady said she would bring the dog out for me to see. While the lady tended to the customers, the little pup ran around the room. She jumped up on the customers, and I called her off, and she responded to my voice.

She ran over to me, and looked up at me with a personality the size of a golden retriever - when she ran away, I wondered how she could be such a small dog. The customers left, and the lady commented that she seemed to respond to me and connect with me. I was sad for her. She was such a beautiful dog. I was sad the dogs got to her and marred her beauty before I found her. While arranging the adoption date, and looking for a new flat that allowed dogs, the woman told me she had held onto this pup for a while, calling her "Hope" because she thought this was a special dog. Seeing that this pup she had believed in had made this strong connection made her happy.

After so much love had been poured into the pup's recovery, the pup loved vets. I asked on Facebook for name suggestions. I had considered Bella, to celebrate her beauty. A childhood friend suggested Reeses, I had also considered due to the chocolate and peanut butter coloring.

I tried to research what kind of breed she could be, and thought perhaps she could be an English shepherd, or farm collie. During my dark times, I had connected with the authenticity in the music of Tegan and Sara. I learned that Tegan was a Welsh name that meant "dear one." I chose that name that felt as unique and one of a kind as she was. I signed a new lease, and scheduled the pickup - I admit it was two weeks before the end of my existing lease. I met the lady at a gas station. The adoption fee was $90. But when I got in the car with the pup, something bizarre happened. A truck at the pump without the brake on rolled into my door. The lady saw it, while I worked out the insurance matters with the driver, she told me not to pay the $90 adoption fee since I had the car accident.

The moment she got into my car was a turning point in my darkness. And that was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. Continued in Chapter 2 here: https://sylviawoodham.wixsite.com/home/post/4e8a1baf-7f5b-4dd3-9626-462bc056222a/edit