HOME | DD

Description
This is Ben, an eight year old border collie, and he is the only reason I carry on fighting against my life.

Ben is the most common name for a male dog in the UK. But the Ben I know is one of a kind, an absolutely wonderful nutter. He goes by many other names, "Benbo Snuggins" is my favourite.

I've had a childhood where I have been abused and bullied by cruel children, neglected by indifferent, supposedly responsible adults, and one where I am not able to feel love or empathic support because of my mildly autistic nature. This leaves stains deeper than I even know myself. The rock hard cynicism I produce is just a mild flavour of the corrupted soul underneath.

I understand many have had much, much worse younger lives. I am not pretending to have had the worst. I am very, very lucky in many ways - I had a great family, and went to good schools. That's set me up well *technically* in life - qualifications, skills and suchlike. But qualifications and career success mean nothing if there is little more than that to your life.

Because of my early experiences, I quickly learnt to distrust people, and everything they say. Now I have thick, thick barriers between myself and others, in the form of politeness, getting along and avoidance. I've never had any relationships. I have few friends, although they are close and well trusted. I don't contact people much. The barriers are there because they stop me continually getting hurt by the world, as used to happen. They also stop the world getting hurt by my true nature, which I have nightmares about.

Ben entered my life about four years ago. At that point, I wanted to die. I'd just failed higher education twice. Since I'd only ever had academic success, I then had nothing. I don't care for people empathically, so I cannot be motivated by others. I'd visited a long standing family friend to talk about things. She was brilliant and listened, but what she did next is something I can never pay her back for. She shared her most precious link with me.

My friend could listen, but Ben could do something quite amazing. He could see through my insanity and neurosis, and he could see my soul haemorraging. He knew exactly how I felt, when I was so incapable of explaining it. What is more, he knew exactly how to treat it.

He didn't jump up at me. He didn't seek my attention, he didn't demand at the time. He didn't do what a typical dog might. Instead, he looked at me carefully, approached gently, and settled down on my feet.

I'm extremely sensitive to touch - that's part of my autistic nature. If someone else tried to do that, I would jump and then retreat immediately. Yet I didn't. I welcomed his tactile pressure, and began to feel the exhausted depression drain out where he lay. Thus I discovered, for the first time in my life, what it is to be touched, to be cared about not just as a thought, but to be emotionally connected. I'd never experienced anything like it.

It has taken me years to understand why I allowed him in when no others could, yet in the end it's very simple. I built up barriers to people, because I'd been treated so badly by so many. But dogs hadn't abused me. There weren't any barriers to get through. But Ben was the first to show an interest in repairing my shattered humanity. Because there were no barriers, he got direct access.

Ben would later teach me what it is to be valued, what it is to be loved, what it is to have an emotional relationship. He has put a smile on my face many, many times, and the only truly happy and carefree hours of my life have all been with him. In return, I have been able to offer my own love and attention, which has never had an outlet. I've taken him out for many lengthy walks in his homeland, the Lakeland mountains, in all weathers. Those walks are what I feel are home, rather than where I live. Then, of course, I have been able to feed his OCD for catching thrown sticks.

His needs are simple, and so are mine, but we are able to fulfill each others' needs completely and easily. So our relationship has grown so deep it is second only to the one with his owner, who I cannot thank enough.

I miss him every single day of my life I am not with him.

Description
This is Ben, an eight year old border collie, and he is the only reason I carry on fighting against my life.

Ben is the most common name for a male dog in the UK. But the Ben I know is one of a kind, an absolutely wonderful nutter. He goes by many other names, "Benbo Snuggins" is my favourite.

I've had a childhood where I have been abused and bullied by cruel children, neglected by indifferent, supposedly responsible adults, and one where I am not able to feel love or empathic support because of my mildly autistic nature. This leaves stains deeper than I even know myself. The rock hard cynicism I produce is just a mild flavour of the corrupted soul underneath.

I understand many have had much, much worse younger lives. I am not pretending to have had the worst. I am very, very lucky in many ways - I had a great family, and went to good schools. That's set me up well *technically* in life - qualifications, skills and suchlike. But qualifications and career success mean nothing if there is little more than that to your life.

Because of my early experiences, I quickly learnt to distrust people, and everything they say. Now I have thick, thick barriers between myself and others, in the form of politeness, getting along and avoidance. I've never had any relationships. I have few friends, although they are close and well trusted. I don't contact people much. The barriers are there because they stop me continually getting hurt by the world, as used to happen. They also stop the world getting hurt by my true nature, which I have nightmares about.

Ben entered my life about four years ago. At that point, I wanted to die. I'd just failed higher education twice. Since I'd only ever had academic success, I then had nothing. I don't care for people empathically, so I cannot be motivated by others. I'd visited a long standing family friend to talk about things. She was brilliant and listened, but what she did next is something I can never pay her back for. She shared her most precious link with me.

My friend could listen, but Ben could do something quite amazing. He could see through my insanity and neurosis, and he could see my soul haemorraging. He knew exactly how I felt, when I was so incapable of explaining it. What is more, he knew exactly how to treat it.

He didn't jump up at me. He didn't seek my attention, he didn't demand at the time. He didn't do what a typical dog might. Instead, he looked at me carefully, approached gently, and settled down on my feet.

I'm extremely sensitive to touch - that's part of my autistic nature. If someone else tried to do that, I would jump and then retreat immediately. Yet I didn't. I welcomed his tactile pressure, and began to feel the exhausted depression drain out where he lay. Thus I discovered, for the first time in my life, what it is to be touched, to be cared about not just as a thought, but to be emotionally connected. I'd never experienced anything like it.

It has taken me years to understand why I allowed him in when no others could, yet in the end it's very simple. I built up barriers to people, because I'd been treated so badly by so many. But dogs hadn't abused me. There weren't any barriers to get through. But Ben was the first to show an interest in repairing my shattered humanity. Because there were no barriers, he got direct access.

Ben would later teach me what it is to be valued, what it is to be loved, what it is to have an emotional relationship. He has put a smile on my face many, many times, and the only truly happy and carefree hours of my life have all been with him. In return, I have been able to offer my own love and attention, which has never had an outlet. I've taken him out for many lengthy walks in his homeland, the Lakeland mountains, in all weathers. Those walks are what I feel are home, rather than where I live. Then, of course, I have been able to feed his OCD for catching thrown sticks.

His needs are simple, and so are mine, but we are able to fulfill each others' needs completely and easily. So our relationship has grown so deep it is second only to the one with his owner, who I cannot thank enough.

I miss him every single day of my life I am not with him.