“Why am I dying to live if I’m just living to die?”

A few months before I was born, my father gave a card to my mother on what was to be their last anniversary.

“You always liked cards,” he said as he tossed it to her and continued to leave her, pregnant, and their 5-year-old child alone in their home.

Inside the card he let her know he was leaving her for a girl (she was young) he met bird watching.  Fucking bird watching.

When it was time for my mother to have me, instead of my father it was her brother-in-law (my uncle) supporting her at the hospital.  (It was the 70s, I think a man was required to be there or something!)

As a grown woman, knowing what I know now about the type of person my father was/is…I just can’t accept it. Leaving a pregnant woman for someone else on their anniversary (funny, my husband left me for his pregnant mistress and vacationed with her on OUR anniversary where WE honeymooned)? Telling her he will quit his job and work under the table if she tried to take him to court for child support? What kind of person is that? A fucking terrible one.

And that’s how I came into this world. Negativity. A reminder, really.  A living, breathing entity to remind my mother of all those horrible things about her marriage and her family. As you can imagine, I am not the favorite child. In fact, a doctor once told me, “You had a mother. You didn’t have a mommy.”

I try to explain this feeling to people that I have about life. It’s like, I was invited to a party. Or yet, forced to go. And I don’t want to be there.

I want to leave. But I can’t. I’m stuck.

I’m stuck here.

Why am I even here? How did I get here? Let me go!

People ask me, “Hey are you okay?”  Most of the time I LIE, of course. But sometimes I simply say, “No.” And literally NO ONE knows how to deal with it. “Oh ok, well if you want to talk I’m here.” Uh ok. Thanks? What about now? Try asking me a QUESTION.  “I don’t know how to help you.” Um, ok, would you say that to a cancer patient?  So yeah, I lie. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” And move on.

Because I’m a bitch, people confuse that for sheer craziness.  I’ve been accused of being crazy hundreds, possibly thousands, of times by both people I KNOW and strangers. And recently was told, “You need psychological help.”  I was a huge bitch to that person, but still.

Oh honey, I’ve seen more shrinks, social workers and psycho-pharmacologists than you can imagine.  They all agree: I am not bi-polar (Thank you vm!) nor am I schizophrenic.  One believed, as I do, that I have BPD – Borderline Personality Disorder. Which, sounds REALLY bad. Like, multiple personality disorder. But they aren’t the same. They are in fact very different. And if you read just one paragraph about BPD you may understand where I’m coming from, and how hard it is to change my brain to think.

This post isn’t about BPD, but it does say a lot about who I am and how I perceive things. I tried talking about this with family years ago but they did not seem interested in that, nor the treatment which is very intensive and expensive.  Why is no one interested in me? Oh, cuz I suck and bring everyone down. Right.  I try not to! I swear!

Listen, I know I’m fucked up. Sorry!! At least I’m honest. About everything. And if you ever want to know where I stand or how I feel, people should just ask! No one ever asks me anything, so I get really excited when they do, like I’m famous and being interviewed. Maybe that’s why I went to so many shrinks – they asked me shit and listened to the answer.

I’m a failure at life and I want to leave!!!

Please. Let me go.

I know what you’re thinking, “JMo is suicidal. OMG.”

I’m not. Relax.

I mean, I am. But I won’t do it.

I already tried it once. And honestly, once you think about it, it’s always there. Beckoning to you, like that creepy clown in the sewer.

Not to get into it, but obviously I’m alive! Hello! So it didn’t work. My attempt. But it happened. But IT and IT’s aftermath will stay with me forever. A life experience not many have.

I carry depression with me every minute of every day.  It doesn’t mean I’m sobbing and sad all the time (yay medication!) but it does mean that I’m aware of my feelings and FEEL those emotions very strongly. Just please know what about me: I don’t do feelings half-assed.


I just realized my blog has NOT been funny recently. I do have a fun story about JMo, a bleeding heart liberal and very anti-gun, shooting one of the death machines. So that should be good, right?

Until then, PLEASE remember that I’m a human being. And while you might have NO idea what I do with my days and nights, just know that I’m fighting to be here, even though I want to Lyft the fuck outta life!

Oh and I have anger issues and I’m lonely. So yeah, probably shouldn’t be shooting a gun. But whatever. 😉



And I wonder if they’ll laugh when I’m dead?
Why am I fighting to live if I’m just living to fight?
Why am I trying to see when there ain’t nothing in sight?
Why am I trying to give when no one gives me a try?
Why am I dying to live if I’m just living to die?


4 thoughts on ““Why am I dying to live if I’m just living to die?”

  1. Thank you for speaking so openly about your struggles. So many people out there struggle with mental illness, but people still don’t want to talk about it. I really love your quote about depression – that it’s living in a body that fights to survive with a mind that tries to die. Very accurate. Keeping you in my thoughts and prayers – speak766

  2. I relate to the bit about carrying depression but not actually being depressed. Like we feel it but we don’t own it. We can’t claim it like others who genuinely need help because we can help ourselves but we continue to feel empty and saddened at things, and overthink everything all of the time. I’m sorry. For what you’ve endured. Things will get better. x

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