The Dog on my Back

In seventh grade, I learned a dangerous truth: depression doesn’t announce itself; it sits on your back like a dog only you can feel. My film follows a young protagonist who lives with that weight — sometimes a sleepy companion, sometimes a snarling shadow. Small triggers can swell it; small kindnesses can shrink it. Outside, she smiles; inside, she tethers a creature that craves nourishment from silence. Through intimate animation and tactile sound design, the film explores the private labour of carrying an unseen illness, the stubborn hope in reaching out for help, and the fragile, messy work of learning to live beside — and eventually unhook — the thing that has kept her still.