Category Archives: It Only Hurts When I Breathe

I used to be so much better at dealing with my bad thoughts, at channeling them into something. I used to know how to help myself. How to drag myself up out of the darkness.

Why’d it all have to change?

The worst part is people who say “You don’t seem bipolar” and don’t realize how that hurts. Which it shouldn’t, but it does somehow. I suppose it hurts because I know myself and what I’m going through and how dare they suggest that I don’t?

I’m sorry I’m not the kind of bipolar you’ve seen in movies. I’m sorry I don’t tell you how down I am 99% of the time and then when I’m up the other 1%. You aren’t me, you don’t know what I’m experiencing because I have difficulty putting it into words.

I had the depression thing pretty well figured out after seven years. It had become familiar to me, almost like an old friend. I knew how to deal with it most days, was able to pull myself out of my circling thoughts a lot of the time. But this, this is brand new and terrifying. Nothing is working and now I get to try however many new meds it takes before something works and maybe then I’ll feel some semblance of normal again.

But for now I’m stuck in a loop of how much I hate myself and how worthless I am and now, with this new thing, nobody seems to be able to help or make me feel better. That is the scariest part. My mom has always been able to comfort me in my worst moments but even she can’t make this go away.

Suicide and committing myself are on my mind daily. Little things feel big and monstrous and make me want to cry. I feel like most people don’t really like me and talk behind my back. Then there’s the irritation. Little things that piss me off and make me want to yell at my coworkers or quit my job.

I’m just so hopeless. More than I’ve ever been. I have zero motivation to do anything but sleep and even that is hard because of my fucked up dreams.

Most days, I just don’t want to be alive anymore.


Do you ever feel like you’re just the worst,

The absolute worst, and nobody’s first,

Their choice, the one to choose

When it all falls down,

The one they can’t lose?

It’s 2:33 a.m. I turned 26 yesterday.

Now I’m rocking back and forth in my bed trying to drown out the sounds of my mother’s emotional breakdown.

How dare she have children when she is still a child herself in her 60s?

Between her and my meth addict father, if I didn’t have my brother I would have lost my mind. I might’ve fucking killed myself by now.


Maybe I could be like her. Maybe I could be for you.

I’m an idiot. I’m not that bold.

She’s your wife. Your real one…I just play a part onstage.

It’s almost over and the pain is rushing at me. I’m stressed and tired but you walk in before the show and everything’s better. I feel lifted.

This is bad. Awful, really. But it’s okay.

You don’t know. You never will. I’m that good at pretending.

I know you won’t believe me
I’ve said it all before
But please just stand beside me
As I weather through this storm

She’s gone, gone, gone
That girl I used to be
And now I’m just a shadow
Of me

But this time, I swear I’ll change
I’ll never be the same
I’ll figure out how to be
Everything you need of me
This promise isn’t empty anymore

I can’t live like this
Guess I never could
It’s easy to pretend
My mask is just that good

I fooled you once
But now you know
You see the truth
I watch you go

She’s gone, gone, gone
And now you finally see
That I’m nothing but a shadow
Of that girl I used to be

As a kid, I knew I was different. My parents and brother too. But my individual self was slightly out of phase with the rest of the world.

I spent a lot of time alone. Which was fine until I turned 9. I had books and an imagination so vast and limitless that it amazed me when other kids were so…boring. Uncreative.

But one night in 1999 changed something. I guess in a way, that was the end of my childhood. The fear and anxiety that came after cannot be considered the emotions of a child, nor my thoughts those of one.

I wonder now…I thought my depression began in 2009. But maybe…the early signs of it were certainly there back then.

Maybe I was doomed from the start. Destined for dark thoughts from the day of my birth.

It’s strange to think of the things that haven’t changed in 14 years. And sad to think of some that have. I wish I could unburden myself. At least as a child, my imagination was able to get me through the worst times. Now it feels like it is shrinking into Nothing. Which is one of the worst things I can imagine.

I don’t know how to be myself anymore. I started antidepressants a year ago this month, and in many ways I feel no different. Or, at least, not different enough.

I’m trying to rebuild myself from fragments and ashes. Trying to fit together a few pieces of who I used to be with who I am, and who I would like to be. But maybe the time for introspection is later. After I fix all that lies ruined around me.

Four Years

Well, it’s that day again. The day that changed my life forever.

My depression is always so much worse this time of year, but after fighting hives all weekend and being stressed about owing money and other things I can’t control…it’s hitting me quite a bit harder.

Summer hasn’t been a good time for me since high school. It just doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s like everything slows down and begs to be more closely examined. Like my world gets darker while the world around me gets lighter. Things weigh more heavily on my heart.

But my summers got far worse in 2009. Because on this day in that year, the sins of my family years before I was born led to my cousin’s suicide.

Only I’ve never thought of it that way until now. I always put the blame completely on Tim. He was the selfish coward who hung himself in a park, and what if kids had found him? And then the anger flares up and I start shaking like I am now.

But it wasn’t just his fault. Or his dad’s, or his grandfather’s. It was ours, and saying that is crazy because I wasn’t even born, but I feel responsible.

His dad was molested by Tim’s grandfather. Then Tim’s dad molested Tim and his sister.

When my family found out, that was it. Divorce, estrangement. My mom admits she punched a wall and stopped speaking to the man who’d been like a brother to her for years. Everybody hated him, including Tim, who changed his name and, as far as I know, never spoke to his father again.

Tim’s sister decided to reconnect with their dad. To forgive. But Tim couldn’t, he wouldn’t.

And he didn’t tell any of us what he was going through. What he was doing to his partner’s nephew. He lived with the shame until his victim threatened to talk.

It’s our fault. Because look how we reacted to his father? How could we possibly forgive him when we couldn’t forgive his dad?

He couldn’t face us. He couldn’t live with himself. And four years later, I’m only beginning to understand that. My anger is finally fading, and all that’s left is a hollow ache.