Tag Archives: Trigger warning

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.


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.