This story has some triggering content. It's about Depression, suicide, grief, and a toxic, dysfunctional family. Please keep that in mind before you read it.

Comments are always appreciated. 

SOMETIMES IT HURTS TO BREATHE

I knew that something was wrong, very wrong, when I saw tears in his eyes. Steve never cried. Suddenly, I didn't want to hear what he had to say. It was a cold day, yet it was sunny, and I had to wonder how it could appear to be so pretty out when it was really just empty and numbing. I watched my breath as it froze in the air. I knew what Steve had to say before he walked up to me. I could see it in his eyes. Something had happened, and it was the kind of something that no one could fix.


Steve finally reached me. "It's Mark," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat.


I shifted my weight from my right foot onto my left foot, feeling extremely awkward talking to my oldest brother, who I had not seen in three years. I'd been surprised when he had called me and asked me to meet him, but I'd agreed. There had been something in his voice that told me that I needed to see him. "What happened?" I asked. I already knew the answer.


"He shot himself. One shot. That was all it took."


"Is he dead?"


"Yes, Meg, he's gone."


I wanted to scream. I wanted to collapse into a fit of hysterical tears, to make it look like something out of a movie, but I couldn't do that. Instead, I just stood there, staring at Steve in silence.


Steve seemed unsure of what to do. Finally, he asked, "Meg, did you hear me? Mark's gone. There was nothing the doctors could do."


"When is the funeral?"


"Sunday." Steve studied me, most likely attempting to understand what could possibly be going through my mind in that moment.


"I'll have to pick up my black dress from the dry cleaners."


"Meg-"


"I have to tell Jessica that I won't be able to go to her party Saturday night. I want to be rested for Sunday."


"Meg, honey, please-"


"I should go home. I have an exam to study for."


"Meg, I know this is bothering you."


"I'm fine. Really. I need to study, or I'm going to get an F."


"Please don't shut me out. You know you can talk to me."


"I don't have anything to say. I need to go home and study, or I'll fail, and I can't afford to fail."


I was twenty-one years old when my brother Mark killed himself. He was sixteen. He and I had not been particularly close, but people always told us that we were a lot alike. Apparently, that was truer than I had realized, because when I was Mark's age, I had taken an overdose of aspirin. The only reason I was still alive was because I had a weak stomach, and I threw up almost immediately.


They say that Depression runs in the family. In my family, it comes from my mother's side. My mother's brother killed himself, and her sister was on Prozac for a while. On the surface, my mother liked to entertain the neighbors, and my father's business associates, but in truth, the only time my mother's smiles were genuine were when she was playing solitaire.


My father spent most of his time at work. He was what one might call a workaholic, and sometimes, he seemed to forget that he was our father, and not our boss.


After my suicide attempt, my mother had been angry with me, because she was worried about what the neighbors would think. My father had listened to the doctors at the hospital, who said that I needed to be in counseling, and had paid for me to see a professional. I had been on three different medications for Depression. When I was eighteen, I went away to college, and in treatment there, I began taking Celexa. It seemed to be working well. I hadn't meant to leave my family behind, at least not on a conscious level, but I had somehow lost contact with everyone except my youngest sister, Lindsey. She was twelve, and she called me every week. Steve was four years older than I. He lived in our parents' basement, where he spent most of his time playing music with his band and getting high. Dani, my other sister, was fifteen. She refused to speak to me after I left home. Dani was convinced that I had abandoned her. 


Mark had not called me, most likely because it wasn't "cool" to call your family members for no reason other than to talk. Now, I found myself wishing that I had made the first move and called him. I picked up my black dress from the drycleaners, told Jessica I would be unable to attend her party, and attempted to study for the exam I had to take on Monday. The studying did not work, so I turned on the television to distract myself.


It's strange how the world works. It seemed like everything on television was about death, or people named Mark, or loss, or guns, or anything else I could connect, however abstractly, to my brother. At the same time, even though Mark was still dead, the world went on living, and for some reason, I was extremely angry with this. How dare the world go on as though nothing had happened when my universe had been forever changed?


I still had not shed any tears by Sunday. I walked into the funeral home and saw my parents sitting in the front row with Lindsey, Dani, and Steve. My mother was sobbing. My father was playing the role of the Man of the House, putting up a strong front while his wife and children wept. But it was fake. It all felt so scripted, as though my family had rehearsed for just such a moment.


Dani spotted me first, and immediately stood up and walked over to me. Rage showed on her pretty face, and it was a beautiful thing, because it was real. She glared at me. "What are you doing here?" She demanded.


"Steve told me what happened," I began. "I had to come."


"It's your fault," Dani said, matter-of-factly.


This caught me off-guard. "What do you mean?" I asked.


"Mark would never have done this if you hadn't left!"



"Dani-"



"No. You don't get to talk, okay? You should just leave, Meg. You're good at that."


"Dani, stop it," Lindsey said. She walked over to me and gave me a hug. "It's not Meg's fault." She looked up at me, still the family baby, yet somehow much older than Dani and I both in that moment, and said, "I'm glad you came."


"Thank you, Linds," I began. The tears I had been waiting for finally started to fall. "I'm glad I came, too." I looked at Dani. "And I'm sorry that I left."


"Meghan." My father said my name as if it were a statement. He walked over to me and extended his hand. I shook it, as though we were business associates instead of a father and his daughter. "Your mother isn't up to coming over here right now." I wasn't sure if this was because she was feeling weak, or if she simply did not want to talk to me.


"I understand," I replied.


"Danielle, go sit with your mother. I don't think we should leave her alone for very long." Dani did as he said and sat down with our mother.


"She isn't alone, Daddy," Lindsey protested. "She has Steve."


"Steven isn't supportive enough to help your mother right now, Lindsey." My father never called us by shortened versions of our names, nor did he use terms like "sweetheart" or "honey." He was all about business. He turned to me again. "How long will you be in the area?"


"Just for the day," I said. "I have to go back to school tomorrow for an exam."


"Very well. Do you have a place to stay?"


"I'm driving straight back home."


"What time is your first class?"


"Noon."


"You should spend the night here, then."


"No, Father, I can't." Lindsey had called him "Daddy," and Dani and Mark had called him "Dad," but to me, he was neither of those things. All a man had to do to be a father was donate sperm. To be a dad, he needed to be there for his children. My father was not a dad. Steve called him "Sir" to his face, and a variety of curse words behind his back. I felt that "Father" worked best for me.


"It's icy out, Meghan. You should not be driving so far in this weather."


I wanted to ask him why he cared. I knew that his children were property to him, and not people. Perhaps he felt that, since he had lost some of his property with Mark, he should watch out for the rest of it. When I saw the look of hope in Lindsey's eyes, however, I chose not to ask why he cared, and to say instead, "I suppose I could spend the night, if I leave early."


"Very well. Come home with us after the service, and you can stay in your old room."


"Thank you."


"You're welcome." He turned around and sat down with my mother, Dani, and Steve.


"I'm glad you're staying tonight, Meg. I really miss you," Lindsey said.


"I know you do. I miss you, too," I replied.


After the service was over, I went home with my family to the house that I had spent my childhood in. It felt strange to be back, and in some ways, it felt as though I had never left. The house, with its perfectly painted white walls and blue shudders, looked as empty as it had always felt to me. The welcome mat still sat perfectly centered before the front door. The entire house was meticulously clean, and everything was exactly where it had been three years before, with the exception of new school pictures of Dani, Lindsey, and Mark.


I paused when I saw Mark's sophomore picture. It was odd to see this stranger smiling at me. He had changed quite a lot in the time that I had been away, and since the casket had been closed, I hadn't known how different he looked. Of course, it was logical that Mark would look older. Dani and Lindsey had aged, and it hadn't surprised me. Still, I had pictured Mark as a thirteen-year-old boy with acne and glasses, and the boy in the picture was sixteen, had clear skin, and wore contact lenses. He also had dyed his hair green and styled it in spikes. 


My heart felt like it was going to break as I realized that I had missed my brother growing up. I couldn't help but wonder if he had known the day that the picture was taken what he was going to do only a couple of months later. His smile seemed genuine, and I searched for some sign in his eyes of the pain he must have been feeling. I found nothing. I walked upstairs and entered my bedroom. I was surprised to see that it had been preserved exactly as I'd left it. My mother had dusted every week, but everything was where I remembered it being.


Images of a particularly bad thunderstorm that hit when I was eleven flashed into my mind. I remembered Mark, Dani, and Lindsey running into my bedroom and hiding under the covers on my bed. The four of us huddled together until the sounds of the storm calmed down, and then I, being the eldest one present, had to crawl out from our hiding place and make sure that the storm had passed.


Dani knocked on my bedroom door, snapping me back into the present. "They didn't change it after you left. We all thought you'd come back. I guess we were pretty stupid," she said.


"Dani, please don't guilt-trip me, okay?" I asked.


"Screw you, Meg! You deserve a little guilt after what you did. You left."


"I went to college."


"You left."


"I had to, Dani. I couldn't stay here any longer."


"Why not? What was so damned awful, Meg?"


"I couldn't stay in a house where the people who were supposed to be my role models were emotionally dead. You don't understand, Dani. If I was going to get over the Depression, I had to leave. This place was suffocating me."


"It could have gotten better if you'd waited. You're a quitter, Meg! A Goddamned quitter! That's probably where Mark got it from!" Dani began to leave.


"Dani, come back here!" I grabbed her arm and prevented her from leaving the room. "You're going to listen to me, damnit! It's not my fault that Mark killed himself, and as far as my leaving goes, it's not like I ran away. I went to college out of state. It was the best thing for everyone."


"You never called."


"I'm not a phone person."


"You never even sent us birthday cards, Meg."


"I was busy. Things slipped my mind. But I'm sorry."


"Bullshit! If you were sorry, you would have come back before Mark died." With that, she pulled away from me and stormed out of the room.


That evening, I ate dinner with my family in silence. My mother made spaghetti and meatballs. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I ate simply to do something.


After dinner, my mother went to sleep, and Steve went out with some of his friends. Dani and Lindsey sat on the couch in the living room watching television. My father and I were left alone in the kitchen. He was looking over some paperwork for his company, and I was reading a magazine that had been abandoned in my bedroom the day I left home.


"Father," I said, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence any longer, "How are you feeling?"


"I'm well, thank you, Meghan," my father replied.


"Well?" I raised an eyebrow. "Your son just died. You can't be well."


"It is a fact of life, Meghan. There is nothing one can do to change these things, so one must accept them and move on."


"Is that what you would have said if I'd died?" I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice, but it seeped in despite my efforts.


"You did not die, so that isn't an issue."


"But I almost did."


"The point is that you are still alive, Meghan, and so, there's really no need to discuss this any further."


"Father, don't you even wonder why?"

"Don't I wonder why what?"

"Why your children are suicidal."


"It's a chemical imbalance, Meghan, and that is all. Your medication resolved the problem. Unfortunately, Mark did not allow anyone to help him, and while it is tragic, we mustn't dwell."


"We mustn't dwell? How can you say that? Your son killed himself, and your daughter tried to do the same, and you insist on treating it as if it's just a drop in the stock market!"

"Meghan-"


"Listen to me! I know you can't possibly be as cold as you pretend to be! Show an emotion once in a while, Goddamnit!"


"I can't!"

I froze. I had never heard my father raise his voice before. "What do you mean?" I finally asked.


"I cannot be what you are asking me to be. I don't know how to do that," he said.


"I don't understand."


"I don't know how to show the emotions I'm feeling without losing complete control."


"It's okay not to always be in control," I whispered, still stunned that my father was being open about his feelings.


He paused, as if he wanted to say something more to me, but thought better of it and stood up. "Goodnight, Meghan." He left without another word.


Feeling worse than I had before speaking to my father, and yet feeling as though I understood him a little bit better, I left the kitchen and went to my bedroom.


Shortly after I got to my room, Dani knocked on the door and asked if she could come inside. I nodded, hesitantly. "I'm not in the mood to be told I killed Mark again, Dani," I warned her. Dani sat down on my bed while I tried to pick out clothing to wear the next day from what remained in my closet. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier," Dani began.


I paused, unsure of where this was going. "It's okay," I said. "You were angry."


"I just didn't know what to do when Mark started to get depressed. I knew he was close to the edge, and I didn't know how to help him. You were gone, and Mom and Dad probably wouldn't have noticed even if I did tell them, and Lindsey was too young, and Steve was never around. I just... It's my fault!" She began to weep, and I hurried to her side and put my arms around her.

"It's not your fault, Dani. It's no one's fault except Mark's. It's okay, Sweetie. Let it out." She was shaking, and I held her closer, desperately trying to understand how she had come to the conclusion that she had killed our brother.


"I should have told someone. I could have prevented this."


"No, Dani, you couldn't have. No one could have prevented this from happening. If someone wants to kill themselves badly enough, they will find a way to do it. Sometimes, bad things happen, and no matter how hard we try, we can't change them. Mark wouldn't want you to blame yourself for this."


We were silent for several moments, until Dani pulled away from me and looked into my eyes. "Why?" She asked me.


"Why what?" I asked.


"Why would someone want to die?"

I paused. How could I answer that question? How was I supposed to explain Depression to someone who had never experienced it?

Somehow, the words came to me. "Sometimes, it hurts to breathe. It's like you're stuck in this deep, dark pit, and no matter how hard you try, you can't get out. There's water, and there's different levels, depending on how high the water is. You fight, and you climb the walls, and sometimes, you get really close to the surface, and you're almost happy. Then, you fall into the water again. When you've fallen one too many times, and the water's over your head, the fight gets knocked out of you, and you can't, for the life of you, remember why you're even bothering to fight anymore." I was crying, but I barely noticed.



"I'm sorry, Meg," Dani said.



"For what?" I asked.


"I'm sorry that you had to be in so much pain." She paused, a look of concern appearing on her face. "Where are you now?"


I knew what she meant. "I'm still above the water. Things are hard lately, but I'm stronger than I used to be, and I know that I can survive this, even if it hurts like hell right now."


"Don't drown on me, okay Meg?"


"I won't. I promise." Feeling the need to lighten the mood, I asked, "So, how's school?"


"Oh, you know, it's school," Dani replied with a grimace. "How's college?"


I was grateful for the peaceful moment we'd finally reached. I replied, "It's going well."


"Do you like it?"


"Most of the time."


Dani laughed, understanding exactly what I meant. School is school, no matter how old you get.


We continued talking for over an hour, until I realized that a rerun of a show that Dani and I had both loved when we were younger was on television. I put on the TV in my bedroom and we watched it, just like we had years before. Sometime before the show ended, we both fell asleep.


The next morning, I cautiously slipped out of bed, trying not to wake Dani, and went downstairs. 


Lindsey was eating pancakes and eggs with bacon and drinking orange juice. She smiled when she saw me. My father was reading the business section of the newspaper, and was eating the same meal that Lindsey was having and drinking black coffee. My mother was sipping a cup of coffee with cream and sugar while playing solitaire. She never ate breakfast. 


"Are you going to have breakfast with us, Meg?" Lindsey asked me.


"I'll have a little something, but I need to hurry. I've got to leave soon, or I'll miss the exam," I replied. Lindsey put one pancake, one scrambled egg, and one piece of bacon on a plate. I poured myself a cup of coffee.


Dani came downstairs just before I finished eating. Steve came upstairs from the basement to help me move some items from my bedroom into my car to bring back to my dorm. He gave me a hug and patted me on the back.


"Be good," he said.


"You too," I replied.


"Come back soon, Meg, please!" Lindsey begged, throwing her arms around me.


"I'll come back to visit soon," I replied. "I promise."


"And you always keep your promises, right?" Dani asked, hugging me as well.


"Always."


My mother continued to play solitaire, but called to me from the kitchen, "Goodbye!" 


My father shook my hand and wished me a safe journey. It was an amicable ending to a business deal.


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