Tonight, while out for a dear friend’s birthday party, I hit a breaking point. I had a panic attack. I realized I’m not alright.

I was sporadic. Manic. Insane. I was crazy.

I’ve noticed that I’ve been distracted recently, but not until now did I realize it was an issue.

I literally kept repeating “there’s something wrong with me” over and over, while we chowed down cheap pizza and gulped away beers.

It took me back to eighth grade. When Mummu died. It took me back to the first time I felt hurt. The first time I felt pain. The first time I felt death. It took me back to the first time I ever understood depression.

“I’m Not Alright” by Sanctus Real is echoing in my brain. This, and “Cry Out To Jesus” by Third Day were the songs that got me through Mummu’s death. They’re sadly not the songs that I’m clinging to now.

Here I am, for the first time in years, listening to a Christian music album. Listening to Sanctus Real, realizing that “I’m Not Alright” means so much more now than it could’ve possibly meant 11 years ago. Hell, I may never realize the true meaning of this song, but it certainly means the world to me.

I think I am finally ready to say “I’m Not Alright”.

I’m really not. I’m not OK. None of this is OK.

I don’t understand. I don’t understand how this can happen. I don’t understand how people can give up on love. On life. That they feel so much pain that they will give everything up to feel better. At the same time, though, I totally understand. I’d never be able to act on my hurt and pain. I’d never be able to kill myself. But I really do think I understand this pain.

It’s not OK. I’m not alright.

I’m hurting and I’m sad.

I’m not alright, and I’m being honest with myself about how I feel, for the first time ever.

I’m not alright. I’m broken inside.

Communicator. Educator. Empath. Survivor. Writer.