Tag Archives: depression

“I’m Sorry” Was Mandatory

It’s a little gloomy outside, but it’s still beautiful 

It’s windy and overcast, but weeds are still sprout and I find myself longing to rip up every dandelion and wish to take a trip back to an early 2000’s summer with a swift exhale 

I want to be single digit age without a single care in the world

I want to be rolling down the hilly, hole ridden lot across the street from the 2nd move of our fresh start after leaving my father single digit years ago

I want to be playing pretend in some silly, always original game that my siblings and I concocted, in an antecedent time of my siblings deciding that they can live without me- instead of pretending like I’m alright with the feeling of being only a half step above disposable to them

And, you know, I wish that I was just feeling sorry for myself, but the truth hurts like those scraped knees when we’d wipe out on our shared pink Razor scooter and the bikes that my ma won in a contest one Christmas 

I’d like, for a summer, to go back to my older sis deciding on a whim to go bike riding in the too-long Arrowhead Lake trail or my younger sis and I randomly going to the parks in town, walking everywhere, because we couldn’t sit still. For hours on end. Back before I stole a cigarette at 16 “just to try” and got addicted at 17, and 3 years later not having stopped since

Back when I was told that drinking too much pop is bad for me, before my first drink at 15 on the way back down south from an annual visit to Chicago, and before I got drunk for the first time on the floor of a shared hotel room on the day of my dad’s wedding, with my ex best friend pouring the shots and my family all asleep just one bed over, oblivious 

I want those dozen weeks to live in the comfort of a time when saying” I’m sorry” for hurting each other’s feelings was mandatory and I knew what I did wrong
But I should’ve predicted,or at least, expected that adulthood would be something along these lines, considering that my younger sis used to walk up and hit me just so I’d hit her back and she could get me in trouble. And now, it’s just emotional blows out of nowhere, and I haven’t hit back in years. Yet I still have to ignore her remarks like she inexplicably ignores me.

I want sit down family dinners of home cooked meals, but now I swear that we’re all just roommates who live off of fast food and gas station sandwiches

I want back the fights, because at least they acted like I exist, and storming out to walk the familiar streets. But we’ve been in the 5th house since our fresh start and all that I go on are repetitive route drives that I’m so sick of. I could live here another 4 years, god forbid, and still never have this town figured out up and down 

Give me only 3ft of hallway to my sister’s room, only separated by one dilapidating accordion door and a doorway of flower shaped plastic beads

Before I knew that there was a word for my darkness, before my void and sadness had a name.

~ Megan

Numbing Numbness (Life of a Writer)

​I can’t say that I feel anything for anyone. Nothing real, at least. 

“I miss you”s and “I love you”s have become so, for lack of a more unique word, empty. Hugs and kisses and sex feel good but not down to my seemingly broken soul. I wish that I could drown out these thoughts with the music and birds and kids playing and car alarm going off right now, but they whisper so softly that it’s almost like a fucking shriek. And I just wanna scream and burn away the painful words that’ll creep their way up my throat with cigarettes and the drip. But the vices can’t save me by drowning me anymore. This is the kind of numbness and disassociation and self confusion that I can’t fuck away. I can’t buzz away; I can’t smoke out of my body. Or snort out of my fucking mind. I’m so sick of being this sick. Was I born this ill? Why do my diseases and conditions have to affect me inside and out?

I miss being held and feeling like I was cured. But it only lasts as long as I can get used to somebody’s body and then the touch of their skin makes me uncomfortable in mine and then I feel disease ridden all over again. I hope to forget about this and read it over two years from now and wonder how long it’s been since I felt so hopeless and lost. But I seem to only get worse with every forgotten passage and lose articulation as time passes. 

I wish that he could save me or, god forbid, another he in my life… but I’ve been told and have told others that you can only save yourself. 

But what a fucking hypocritical cliché because I don’t have the slightest clue of what that means or where to even begin. 

I’m so scared, so fucking terrified and petrified that I will always have to self medicate to pretend to cope with so much fucking pain. I hurt so constantly and so deeply and it subsequently makes me feel more inclined to take it upon myself to dull it.

How in the hell does anyone think that they’re supposed to numb their numbness? 

I don’t think that a writer realizes just how much pain that they’re in until they unload after paper silence for months. It’s such a freeing entrapment.

I feel that I’ve made some sort of breakthrough yet I’ve just dug myself into an even more gaping emotional and mental whole. What a fucking morose contradictory art. 

I don’t know what I want to do or be. I’m afraid that I have no fucking clue of who I am, but I’m more afraid that I know exactly who I am. I think that the latter is more horrifying. 

How the fuck is this any way to live? How in the world is this a life?
~Megan Chruszczyk

For Me

Depression, for me, was crying with every bite that I took because it’s been 2 weeks and I still have no appetite and I couldn’t get out of bed even if I wanted to…which I seldom ever did.
My body was a ticking time bomb that was about to shut off rather than go off at any moment if I didn’t try to gulp down sips of water that I didn’t want- because that meant that I’d have to suffer through another day of feeling nothing. Hah, fucked up doesn’t even touch the word “depression.” I was so close to booking a stay at our nearest hospital. Whether medical or psychiatric,  I don’t even want to know.
Depression was sitting on my bedroom floor after seven benadryl and half a bottle of zzquil, somewhat muffled-ly hearing my mom beg me not to make her bury me
And then hearing those words replay again and again and again in the back of my fucked up head as I did even more reckless things.
I didn’t want to die, not consciously. I don’t know if subconsciously either, but in this case, ignorance is bliss.
All that I know is that I didn’t want to be, somedays. And I wanted to feel, literally anything, others.
Depression was hopelessness in THE most terrifying sense of the word. And clearly, that word is pretty fucking scary.
Depression was my worst enemy.
And my most reliable companion.

~Megan

Gone In Sixty Seconds

Everyday is an array of all of my worst emotions
I can yell and cry my goddamn eyes out
But then a minute later I can’t breathe and I am a statue and I just start to fade
He’s on the way to school and he’s in my head
I lie awake at night, drifting off to the thought of him and I and him and someone else and I roll over to find him not lying in my bed
It’s 3a.m. and I start sobbing and 9a.m. and I just want his arms around me
3 in the afternoon and I can’t open my eyes while I’m on the road but I just want him out of my head
He’s in my head telling me not to go to class
I can’t shake it but I want to so bad
But I don’t want to forget a single moment
He is the smoke in my lungs andthe shake in my hands
And the reason why speeding up on a sharp curve makes more sense than two plus two
I want so badly to run up to him and scream, “I fucking love you”
But he tells us both that it’s for the best
And I can still feel what it was like to fall asleep with my head on his chest
And I can’t, I fucking can’t  accept that he was just another lesson
Over a year of my life gone in sixty seconds

~Megan

Happy

What is happiness? If you look it up in the dictionary it is defined as “a state of well-being and contentment”, or “a pleasurable or satisfying experience” according to Webster’s Dictionary. What is happy? The one definition that stands out to me is “feeling pleasure and enjoyment because of your life, situation, etc.”. Those two words are the exact reason I love to look up the meaning of words. I can have happiness in my life without ever being happy. Happiness is the experience the being of happy for a short period of time. I experience happiness on a regular basis. I felt happy when I had the chance to hold my nephew for the first time, all the times I got off the train and saw my best friend was just as excited as I was, I feel happy nearly every time my boy friend gets off work and wraps his arms around me in our bed, and I was happy when waited 3 minutes to see the pregnancy test said yes. Although I was happy at those moments they were all taken from me. One way or another I had to let go of those moments that once made me feel alright. I remember in science class teachers would always saw how our species is the most evolved out of any other species. We are so much more intelligent than any other thing on our whole entire planet. They say we should be proud of ourselves because of how far we have came, and privileged that we are human. Sometimes I wonder if they forget the cons of our species. Our feelings are much more intensified than any other species. When we are sad there is sometimes no control over that feeling. We may even tell ourselves that we deserve to be happy and that we want to stop just laying in the bed all day, but we can’t control it. I watched the documentary “Dark Fish” on Netflix, and while watching it I kind of thought maybe we are like whales in a way. Whales form an unbelievable bond with their pods. When one whale is gone it is literally like they’re in pain, like they have lost a part of themselves. That is how it is for me. When I feel someone I care about is slipping from me it is literally like I am in pain. Like this huge part of who you are who has lived in your heart is being ripped out of you, so you feel the loss in the worst way possible. It is even worse when you look at them and it is like it doesn’t even bother them. When you look in the mirror you can see in your eyes and the way your carry yourself that this pain has changed you, and that you’re not the same person. People start to notice that when you laugh your eyes no longer light up, and when you get out of bed that your outlook on yourself is no longer the same. Somewhere something changed you. Was it the pain or was it the things people have said to you. Deep down you know you’re not stupid, you know you aren’t ugly, and you know you’re worth something, but for some reason you start to believe it. When you look at that pill bottle you wonder what others would feel if you just took a few more than you usually do. You wonder if people would be sad, and then just go on with their lives. Because when you think about loosing someone who is important to you, you can’t ever imagine being ok again. You just stare at that pill bottle and keep debating if today will be the day that you go to sleep and never wake up. If today will be the day the pain and sadness ends. Then you take two and walk away, because you have always been the person ho cares more about others than you do yourself. You think maybe my mother would drink herself to death, my dad would work himself to death, my sister would feel alone, my best friend would feel betrayed, my grandparents would be disappointed, my brother would wonder if maybe he could have helped, and my boy friend would wonder how I expected him to just move on and fall in love with someone else. Even if they would be ok you can’t risk hurting the ones you love. Why can’t these feelings just go away? Why can’t I feel normal? Why am I always so confused? I just want to be high all the time, so I don’t feel anything. I just want to be okay. I feel like I only have a few people who will have my back my best friend, my sister, and sometimes my boy friend, Sadly the only one who is in close enough distance to help me is my boy friend. How do I tell my boy friend that I take pills all the time to feel ok? How do I tell him that I have nearly relapsed? That the only time I don’t take pills is when I am with him because I know how he would react. I don’t blame him. Who would wants a drug addict as a girl friend? I have to tell him. I need to stop lying to people I love, and people who love me. I’m not alright, and I need someone to help work through this.