It’s a game of pretend,

A sweet smile just enough

to satisfy hollow questions

it’s easier this way

you know you don’t want to know

how I really feel.


A sweet smile gives you peace,

let’s you tell yourself it’s okay,

walk away, she’ll be fine,

Live to see another day,

to conquer her burdens


it’s the only way.

dear family



Dear family,

The things I wish I could tell you, stay trapped inside me, in the well of tears I silently shed alone. I hate my life, and I know it’s probably my own fault. I can’t get past my grief, it eats me from the inside out, every day. It’s been eleven years but sometimes nothing changes, nothing makes it okay, nothing helps you accept the one you lost, and carry on.

If there was a button or a switch I would’ve turned it off, long ago. I would reach out to you if I thought it would make any difference, if I thought you could help, if I thought there was anything you could do but feel burdened by me. I carry my own burdens, I walk alone, and I choose to. I know you can’t help me. I reached out once before, long ago, and I know it scared you to think that I wanted to die, to think that I could be in a place so dark I might never come out of it.

Well, I know now my real options. I just want you to know that I tried. No matter what happens in the end, I just want you to know that I’ve felt hopelessly depressed for well over a decade and I’ve tried. I’m not the selfish one here, no matter my actions. I just need you to know that.


Okay, it has been forever since I’ve written. Really, a very long time, and I’ve felt it. Mostly lately that urge to write, and really the need to, has crept up on me. I guess it feels sad and almost shameful that I write when I really need to, when I’m really depressed. Wish I had something more uplifting, or witty or entertaining to share. But writing has always been the thing that has kind of saved me and I guess that’s pretty special in itself.

I took a little break for a while there and I felt a little better but it’s winter and loneliness and depression seem to follow me, forever walking beside me, no matter what.

These days I have to wonder if I will always be this way. I sometimes thought naively that if I could conquer the loneliness, maybe one day meet someone, share our lives together, have a family, a purpose, a channel for all the good things, well maybe it would be different. These days I’m not so sure. These days I wonder if it really is the circumstances, the loneliness and isolation that I feel, that plays a part here. Maybe it’s just me and how I’ll always be no matter what.

It’s a cycle I fall into. These feelings make me want to be alone and the loneliness makes me fall deeper and deeper, gets me stuck here.

Anyways, it’s just a matter of trying to get through each day, all the while hoping that things will change and trying not to feel completely pathetic in the process. This doesn’t feel like me, it feels like something else has taken over. I’m usually more kind, and thoughtful and OPTIMISTIC than this. I try hard. But sometimes it takes over and I can’t even begin to be the things I want to be, the things I sometimes can be.


I can’t believe in you,

no guarantees

too much to lose

I once stood in your corner,


too much to risk.


I tried your type before,

all in–

sentimental gestures,


and open:

you broke me down.


At first I was naive,


wishful thinking,

blind denial,

Wounded anger

paved the way.


At first I thought

just wait,

you have to keep believing,

keep seeking,

it’s the one thing that redeems us,

but it takes time.


At first I had my heart broken,

over and over,

Still believing

‘Til the words lost their meaning

and actions spoke louder–

love is loss.


“You are not your depression”

She said these words to me, and I haven’t been the same.

They struck me. Not just the words but my immediate, intense, knee-jerk reaction: of course I am. Of course I am my depression, this is it, who I am and what I feel–what I battle–all the time.

She wouldn’t let me have that.

Since she said those words I’ve been forced to confront the stories I tell myself. It’s a harsh truth.

I’m lonely and depressed. People think I’m strange because I love my dog so much, because I have a dog and a cat and no partner. Life isn’t fair. My mother died when I was twenty and I will never be okay, I will relive this pain day after day until I die. I will come home and cry if even the faint hint of a thought of her, of family, enters my mind. 

I will repeat this same cycle, feel swallowed by this same pain, every day until I die. Depression is not something I asked for, it’s something that has found me, and followed me, and won’t leave me alone. This is how it is.

With her words she helped me see these stories that I tell myself, these things that feel permanent and heavy and unchangable. She contradicted me, forced me to consider other possibilities. She said it’s not me, it’s not who I am or what I have to be.

It’s hard to see the things other people see, to contradict what you feel, to see what you might be able to know.

From the outside looking in, I have a great job, I love it, I have pets who bring me joy, I have family and friends who are amazing.

I could see these things differently, maybe people do see me differently, maybe they don’t think I’m pathetic and miserable and alone.

Maybe, but sometimes it feels that way, these feelings drown me and it doesn’t seem like there’s anything I can do.

For now I’ll try to be aware, try to recognize and acknowledge these stories that I tell myself, just witness that they’re there. Maybe one day when I’m stronger I can conjure up better stories to tell, I can see things,–and feel them–differently.





Money money

ease this pain,

help me gain

an ounce of happiness,

the fleeting, unnerving

undeserving kind,

the sweet surface-level lies

soon to despise,

temporary bliss


slipping through your fingers



un-felt kind.

Money money

fill this hole

though I know

in my soul

it doesn’t matter,

doesn’t mean much of anything at all,

What Money Can’t Buy,

what I need I can’t find,

it’s the sad truth,

the important things in life,

sometimes don’t come to you.