Sunday, November 1, 2009

The Power of Dying

The deeper into winter we go the sicker I begin to feel. Small things at first, beginning in late August. Mental blips that have turned into full on manifestations of craziness are beginning to worry me. Seeing things that I know can't be there. Hearing things that I know aren't even of this world. It's all turning into a whirlwind that I'm paranoid is going to whip me up and throw me far away from the progress I've made. I've nearly made it to my 2 year mark. On November 5Th 2009 it will be 2 years since I have been in the Mental Hospital. I never really expected myself to make it two years almost. Not as sick as I was. I fully expected to be dead at the end of 2007. Death by sorrow.

Internal sorrow - one that never let's you sleep. Never lets you breathe. Never lets you hear anything other than the demons in the darkness reminding you of your flaws and failures. How you hate yourself and everyone around you must hate you as well. How you try and smile so they never know but inside you're burning with a pain so great that it threatens to consume you entirely.

I've had death on my mind lately. I suppose it's because I hate myself and wish I were dead. (Please don't confuse me with an Emo. Depression is not a fashion trend.) I feel vacant even though I know I should feel somewhat full inside. I have beautiful nephews who think I'm their mother. Grandparents who love me. Friends who care about me and a lover that I'm crazy about. But I can't shake this feeling of just wanting to quit. Just wanting everything to stop spinning. Just wanting to sleep forever. I'm grappling at material things because I can't grasp anything else. Trying desperately to fill the void in my soul that just won't close back up. It's as if someone took a jagged razor and tore a cavern through the middle of my soul and nobody ever cared enough to stitch it back up. I can't seem to get myself sewn back together. No matter what I do. My newest attempt is about to be going back into therapy.

But I digress.'s my anti-drug so to speak. A malevolent being that dreams of its own demise. That's what I am. I have become enveloped with plotting my own destruction again. It's wrapped my thoughts up and is holding them for ransom. Payment being my life. Only then will the internal harassment cease. What a price to pay for peace of mind...

I dream of cutting myself up into a million tiny pieces.
I dream of hanging myself up high in tree branches for everyone to see.
I dream of taking a million of those pretty pills I so love. How I would love my drugs right now.
I dream of slitting my wrists wide open and letting my veins pour out my lifeblood.
I dream of walking into a river and never coming back up for air.
I dream of sitting in a garage with a car running to asphyxiate myself.
I dream of blowing my brains all over the walls.
I dream of swimming in an ice cold lake until my lips turn blue from hypothermia.
I dream of driving a knife through my heart.
I dream of the day that my breathing stops and I feel no more...and I bleed no more....and I won't hurt again.

That's why dying was so magnificent. For a moment in time - the pain simply stopped. I didn't hurt. The hole in my soul wasn't aching. My mind wasn't thinking. It didn't hurt when I was breathing because I wasn't breathing. I wasn't breathing and it was beautiful.

I just want to die.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Self Injury Quotes

How will you know if I am hurting if you can't see my pain? To wear it on my body tells what words cannot explain.

I can't stop thinking about cutting myself up. Visual bruises can be covered with makeup. But down to the core I'm all bruises.

Tell me that you don't take that blade and drag it across your skin and pray for the courage to press down?

A decade of cutting away dead flesh, cauterizing old scars ripped open over and over and it's still not enough.

The drops of blood are substitute for the tears I cannot cry.

Have you ever had that feeling? That itch just below the skin that only a razor blade can scratch?

Have you ever had the need to slit your wrists? To let all feelings of guilt and depression bleed out and then sew yourself up again to be happy?

When everything feels like the movies, you bleed just to know you're alive.

I am forever staring at the tender blue veins along the inside of my wrist. Tiny and fragile twigs trapped under ice.

I wrote a little poem. A poem with a twist. I wrote it with a razor blade. Wrote it on my wrist.

Self-Destruction feeds on Self-Hatred.

Such beautiful dignity is self-abuse.

Pink ribbon scars that never forget. Tried to cleanse myself from all these regrets.

I'm a little bit of loneliness. A little bit of disregard. A handful of complaints but I can't help the fact that everyone can see these scars.

We couldn't imagine the emptiness of a creature that took a razor to her wrists and opened her veins. The emptiness and the calm.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Mad About Red

My insides are screaming at me from a deeper place. With a more primal need than the rest. My demon. My beautiful demons of pain. A pain so rough, a pain so tough, that I cannot say anything at the end of this love affair with the blade except, "I am alive." Dripping, dropping, sploshing, splashing little pools of red. That seep from my veins at night. My very own lifeblood. Collecting like fog upon the floor. My own little ocean of sanity. Oh, but I cannot have my little pools of sanity. Not anymore. Wicked health has supposedly sunk deeply into my bones and "cured me" of my sinful ways. My madness. My malice. My anger. My past. The pills didn't fill me up to make me well. The doctor couldn't dissect my thoughts good enough to tell me what was wrong. My eating disorder couldn't make me beautiful. My addictions couldn't cure me. But this addiction - oh it's so sweet. When it begins to burn so beautifully at the core of my brain. At the base, eating my stem alive, infecting me with it's potent venom. Like a spider bite from a brown recluse. Infection is sure to follow and then the putrefaction and mushiness of dying flesh. My sanity - dying more and more and more. But God it's so beautiful. Purple sky. Cotton dreams. Lost. Oh so lost. Like a hit from a candy colored cocktail of pills. Drowning me in it's silky smooth grasp. Just one cut. One deeply placed slice. I just need one. But then again, maybe two....hell let's make it a hundred! Cut and saw away my arms and legs and soul. Just carve it out because I don't need it anymore. Bleed from me you ugly wasteland of things I find despicable. I hate you. I hate you more than I hate myself. But wait - you are myself. Ha ha! Damn hormones have made me a little cuckoo tonight. PMS - such a bitch! Hahahaha!!!

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Madness and Methodist

Perched upon your ebony throne,
Drowning out the great alone,
That bled itself into your brain,
Reminding you that you're insane,
Dripped from lips and eyes and tongues,
That made you realize you'd become undone,
Within a hell of white-hot pain,
That burned you ugly and never the same,
The little girl inside your mind,
That smiles on the outside but cries all the time,
Finally spliced the last red nerve of sane,
Sucked it pale like a candy cane,
And splintered again into bits on the floor,
Marbles rolling away to be found nevermore,
Until the little man in a white cap and gown,
Drug you away to the place in town,
Where you get your own room with pillows for walls,
And you can run screaming down through the halls,
Until they get tired of your babbling mouth,
Give you some drugs to put you right out,
Isn't it fun here in Methodist land?
Where we can run screaming like children again,
And it's summertime forever here in our minds,
Where the darkness never creeps and sorrow never binds,
Who am I kidding this place is absurd!
Needles prick and white lights burn,
Doctors and demons wake you up in the dark,
Or the schizo next door screaming like a lark,
Your neighbor will rape you and therapist tell you to die,
From suicide you fool, go back out again and this time...really try!!
Ah yes it's so lovely here in this place,
With the crazies and weirdos you'll feel perfectly in place,
So come on down to the Methodist hotel,
And awaken to find yourself really in hell

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Blah! ! !

You are as predictable as a box. At times I thump you and there is no sound. You're filled to the brim with ideas and creations that have yet to be constructed. You can't hear me through your inner madness that drips like slime from your tear ducts. I scream at you to hear me, but like a pizza man at a loud party, you can't hear me clearly enough to answer the damn door and see what I have to offer. You're lost inside of yourself, as always, unable to see the fact that an entire world revolves around you. If only you would come out of your head, hermit. You'd see that there are things out here worth having. I don't think you'll come out, though. I think you're locked away forever. In the construction paper, crayola crayon fantasy world you slapped together when everything else fell apart in your life.


At other times I thump on you and the only thing that I can hear is this large, overwhelming void that has absolutely nothing in it except for yourself. And for all of the silence that you endure, it would seem as though you still can't hear me. There is never any answer to my knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door. The party is over. The guests in your head have all gone home. But I'm still outside in the rain, screaming at you as loudly as I can and you don't even look up. You're at some great divide within your soul, I'm sure. There, with Kurt Cobain and Virginia Woolf to keep you company, right?

Your books and your television and your fish and your cat. But where the hell am I supposed to be? You are either so full or so empty that there isn't any room in your life for me to fit. Not properly at least. I belong to no one. I belong to a great empty nothing. You belong to your "things"... I belong to absolutely nothing. I don't fit into your head. I don't fit into your life. I sure as the hell don't fit into your heart... So if you can't stand to touch me, and can't stand to be less than three feet from me, what in the bloody hell am I to you? I attempt to cuddle and kiss you like normal girlfriends, but God no! Heaven forbid that lasts more than five minutes, right? Six minutes would be torture and ten would be certain death. What am I??? Your chauffeur? Your buddy? Your pal? Your non-biological daughter. You do so love to parent me at times. What am I? Where am I? You seemed "so into me" in the beginning. Your words, not mine. But as my Mother reminded me, that is SUCH a cop out response to everything. So maybe you just wanted me around to fuck so you could break your year and a half abstinence, eh? Using me like everyone else? Oh I simply can't wait to muse over you later. At least I can forget about Bryan now, though. At least I got that much out of this.

I'm sure tomorrow will bring a sense of normalcy. You'll be your chipper dipper old self. Chirp about some hell awful printer or television show until I'm screaming internally, wishing for once that you'd stop acting like some God forsaken hippie who's smoked pot all day and eaten Cheetos and watched Scooby Doo. Wishing your TVs would break and your computer would die. So you would HAVE to pay attention to me. But you still wouldn't. Your books would suddenly become the most important thing in the UNIVERSE! You'd rush madly towards them, like lost lovers of yours, devour them, page by page until paper ribbons are coming out of your anus. You'd suck the very marrow out of everything, everything except me.

You said you enjoyed "complex people" and that's why you liked me. I was complex. Or so you implied. I think you really enjoy complex people because we're stupid in your mind. We're easy to coerce into bed after five days of meeting and easy to keep around to drive you places. So easy to use and throw away. Maybe that's what really happened with your "lost love"...she was so much like you that she grew tired of you instead of the typical reverse and went out in search of something more....complicated? ;]

Ah well - my maddened rantings have worn me out.

Into a cold blue morning your blade crashes,
Driven deep into the fabric of the sky,
Splitting it's satiny sheen in half and letting me see things I never wanted to,
Leaving me to search again in your eyes for truths,
Truths of affection that simply don't exist,

The once decadent milk-chocolate lust that eminated from your eyes,
Is now nothing more than a dark chocolate hate,
Bubbling and burning in toxic acidity,
Beneath the surface of your epidermis,
As cold to the touch as your heart,

I poise myself upon the sofa, waiting for you to come back from your internal wars,
Dredging up the ghosts of the closet that's been locked for so long,
That the deadbolt has rusted and broken off,
Praying to God that for once, just once,
You could gaze upon me as if you still liked me again,

But, alas, you do not,
And I wait in the foyer of your world,
Like the patient in the Doctor's office,
Hoping soon to hear the call of her name,
Signaling her chance to be seen,

Sunday, September 27, 2009

White Hot Razor Blade

Diamond rain falls from her eyes in sharp little pieces,
That burst and break upon the wood floors,
That echo the quick "click-click" of her patent leather heels,
Reminding the ghosts that they are never alone,
And herself that she always is,

Trickling down it splashes upon her fingertips of white,
Ivory flesh that masques her brittle bones so well,
Confusing the world into some hallucination of her beauty,
A lie of make-believe that she is more lovely than the rest,
The worst lie of all,

Her ebony hair falls down her back limply,
Shining from a health that somehow forgot to bleed itself,
Deep into the dark recesses of her brain,
Where the infection of madness took up residence and broke her,
Drove the sanity from her eyes and lips and hair and lungs,

The tears continue to fall and days to pass,
Until finally her tears are falling into a hot bath filled with a million more,
Where her ivory skin is burned red,
From the steaming tears and water,
And the razor blade that split the veins below,

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

City Lights

City lights have always kept me mezmerized. I'm obsessed with getting away into the city. I want to live in a penthouse loft with an absolutely perfect view of the city skyline. All of those beautiful buildings. At nighttime is when I find them in their most exquisite state. Almost hyptnotizing all lit up like that. They put me in mind of a million cliches. Diamonds in an engagement ring, stars in the sky, lights on a Christmas tree...I am obsessed. I've never been fond of Indiana. It's corn fields and WalMarts. There's too many bums and ghetto drug addicts around here. I want something more. Something more beautiful. Something more expensive. More tasteful. More elegant. Something less hickville and more Hollywood. More anything. I absolutely hate this place.

I used to dream of a love that would surpass any wealth I could ever have. Once I realized that that love wasn't real, I began to dream of a wealth that would usurp that missing love. If I couldn't have one, I at least wanted the other. Love or Money...what a pair!

So nowadays I'm dreaming of diamonds, little black dresses, chic martini lounges and penthouse lofts. But most of all I'm dreaming of those city lights. I want a metropolitan lifestyle. I always have, I just never knew what it was called. I want clean lines, wood, stone, and leather, rich colors and deep glasses of wine that never end. I want shallow summers and deep, meaningful holidays. I want sunshine and snow and rain and wind. I want everything I can get. I feel like a hungry vampire and I can never get enough blood. But my blood is escaping from this hellhole. I crave it like I crave air when suffocated. Mostly because I feel suffocated. I feel like I'm dying. I've always wanted to get the hell out of here. I want a way out of this life and I have searched for that backdoor out of here for years but now I see that the only way out is up. Climbing the corporate ladder is the only way out of this place. Money is the key to any door and every heart.

I'm tired of being referred to as "the poor girl who can't afford anything"...

They have all upset me now. I loathe being referred to as poor. I realize I'm lower income than most and that I'm without employment right now. I know that no one understands that I cannot work and hold a job at the same time because it's difficult. I'll show them all up one day, though. I'll be the wealthiest person in this family. I won't be the "poor granddaughter/daughter/cousin/sister" etc etc...

People will be coming to me to ask for a loan. I'll have enough money to give it to them too. I'll have enough money to never ask for it back. I'll be generous with it. I'll be the perfect person. Wealthy, beautiful, and smart. That's what I've always wanted to be. I just want to be lovable. But if I can never be that, then I just want city lights to get lost in...

Monday, September 7, 2009

trying to write

Complacency has come to replace my once tattered thoughs,
That drifted down onto your face, your smile, your essence,
Rushing over and drowning my fears of the absolution that will never come,
Slowly bringing me to the realization that you are as stone-cold as river rocks,

That have been smoothed away and polished by the rapids,
That nearly drowned me in your fantasy world that you've made,
Drowned my will to fly a moment too late,
I have taken off, taken to the sky, where you cannot reach me,

Cannot infect my soul with hypothermia of a new kind,
You are losing me, never really had me, never really will,
I have labored and sweated with the fever in my heart,
Dripping everything but hope from the pores on my skin,

Just another self-infatuated rendezvous is what you've become,
Just another almighty indigo sky littered with stars above,
That came to call on my eyes once darkness fell,
Because we both were left alone, forgotten by the rest of the world,

Giving up on you was the tourniquet to this wound,
That poured and flooded the blood from my veins,
Seeping the last of my decency with it, my beauty,
Leaving me just a corpse in my own right,

And though I'm ugly now and useless and no good,
At least I'm still alive,
Heart beating through the death of our love,
That finally let me say goodbye,

Friday, September 4, 2009

Liar Liar

Talking about myself of course. Sometimes I wish that people were trustworthy. That I could be myself around them instead of being this personification of who I think will survive around them. I get tired of being this mask, this shell of a person. It's too dangerous, though, to be myself. I'm too easily wounded. I love too easily and it seems like everyone just gets the biggest kick out of ripping my heart to shreds. What is so wrong with people that they see something as simple and nice as love and they feel the need to destroy it? I don't get it? Why is it so important to them that they have to kill it until people like me become so fed up with trying to love that they begin to try to stop loving altogether?

Is it really that bad that I want love? Is that like abnormal somehow? I just want someone to be honest, brutally honest, and tell me if it IS that unusual. Has there been some great change in women? Are we supposed to hate love now? I'm just lost. So lost that I've kept this goddamn mask on because I'm scared to death of being hurt like the way I was when I was five. I'm tired of it. I just want someone to love me. I know it probaly sounds pathetic and all, but, I guess I'm so tired of "living a lie" that I would rather be ripped open until I finally bleed to death than to live like this anymore. I just want romance and love. The rest of my life is fine. But I'm a hopeless romantic I guess. I suppose love is the one elusive bird that will always evade my cage.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Bleeding Love

Deep within your smouldering midnight eyes,
Way down into your white-hot core,
I beg to be lost forever,
Wrapped up along with the passion of your soul,
That dances,
Eloquently, yet without reservation, wild-eyed in the full moon,

That fiery hunger,
So fiercely ingrained in your very bloodstream,
That it shot through me like a sterling bullet,
Leaving me, bleeding beautifully, upon this empty dance floor,
With lips that are dripping my quietest kept secrets,
Like crimson liquid oozing from my pumping heart,
That beats so brokenly for you,

And here I lay,
Begging for you to cease it's petulant pounding,
For with every miserable pulse it screams, "I love you!"
Causing it to fall from my mouth again, against my will,
Defying me!
...and there is nothing I can do...
Yet you simply gaze downward at me and smile impishly,
With your smouldering eyes that have me,
So gleefully lost within your entrapment,
That I almost forget,
I am still bleeding to death on the floor....

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Bag of Bones

I watch the door in suspenseful hope of your return,
Black wood encasing red like the stone around your heart,
That prevents love to seep from you at any crevice,
Through any pore,
If there is any love left in you that is,

My shattered thoughts have wandered, aimlessly,
Into the folds between realities and fantasies,
Wishing you would find me there and quixotically indulge me,
Just once in a midsummer night's dream,

But dark skies weep a black & chilling rain,
That falls in waves, so lost over a world that weeps as well,
And I, I am just sitting here on your couch,
Wrapped up in a blanket that provides about as much warmth as your arms,
Absent-mindedly sucking the life from my last cigarette,

Your mirage has faded from me finally,
Blown away on a hot morning breeze,
That has left me, stranded in a desert once more,
Forcefully ignoring the fact that I've been fooled yet again,
I move onward towards the sight of green,

But I know, yes I am certain,
That it is always just another hallucination,
Another ghost of happiness in the distance,
That once I reach, will somehow vaporize into air,
Leaving me here, having been alone all along,

Wednesday, August 5, 2009


In the etheral beauty of your diamond smile,
I have noted the slightest sound of buzzing,
Wasps in your mind flying around again, no doubt,
Stinging you petulantly with that old familiar venom,
The other dancers in this parade never do see the crash coming,
Though it's always been so blatantly obvious to me,
But fully equipt with my own wasp repellant,
I have to ask you, "When will you get your own?"

This hot liquid attraction never will fade, dear,
While you play charades with the future,
And dance, near flawlessly, with the religious "should-do's"
Always in the foyer of your plastic sanctuary,
He will be there,
Waiting for just one of those lovely diamond teeth of yours,
To break out of your porcelain mask and shatter,
Busting out into white powder upon the floor,

And you will fall to the ground, grieving in sorrow,
As I still do at times myself,
Lapping it up, breathing it in, like the junkie you will always be,
Like me,
Never realizing until it is far too late,
That the remainder of your mask has crumbled as well,
Turning into just another sugary-sweet hit,
That you are desperately trying to devour with avengance and haste,
Before they pull you away again from your medication,
And force thier version of "better" into you one more time

"Put back on the mask"
"Pretend, pretend, pretend..."
"Now smile and say you're okay"

Isn't it fun, being an addict?

Memoirs of a Pill-Popper

You are the sweet, plastic decadence I crave,
A soft pixie dust center lulling me into blissful ignorance,
Wiping the slate of my memory clean for a while,
The rainbow hues of the world you produce,
As light and colorful as your casing,
Are pieces of paradise lost in bitter reality and sobriety,
The hot rush of your neon love,
Injected into my putrid veins,
Has woven small, ribbon-like fingers into the very fabric of my existence,
I like you, love you, far too much,
Developed too much of a fatally wicked attraction,
...I cannot...Will not... let you go...
In a sober and painful moment of purest desire,
Tainted maliciously by the fire in my brain,
I realize I wouldn't let you go if I could, dear pill,
And tonight while lying supine in the dark,
I will taste the venem of your kiss over and over again,
Praying to you, my Muse,
To become the Sinuet I love to adore.


Your quicksilver, moon-sliver of a smile betrays the delicate lines in your razor sharp tongue,
The one that bit gracefully into my throat of alabaster and seeped toxins of a new disease into my sapphire veins,
That now I am slicing open, in pathetic attempts, to rid you from my soul
& the black rivers beneath my eyes that you've so callously placed there
Drip placidly from my cheeks
What new crime have I committed that you feel you must give my heart yet another lashing?
Smiling with putrid contempt at me,
You have bashed me into a broken state, leaving nothing of my once lovely surface,
Still, through the roar of your anger that melts me into nothing,
I manage to stare blankly and contentedly at the primrose sky above me,
Floating deep within the absence of the cosmos I fly away to where you never touch,
To where your acid fingertips will never burn the satin dreams of my heart again,
And I can be the Princess in her tower,
Waiting for the Knight to come and rescue her,

Ode to Addiction

You are the single thing I crave,
From inside my mind where you whisper seductively to me,
Lulling me into a rainbow dream as vivid as your smile,
You are something I will never be,
Seductive, Sensuous, Addictive,
Such preconcieved beauty drips from you,
And I lap it up in vacant hopes that pray,
To become a similar sinu(et),

But it will never happen...

Wild lovers and worshippers alike,
You have us entirely encased so small,
Within a grip tighter than the coffins that one day,
Shall eventually encase us all,
Overdosing on your neon love,
That bends the needle in the vein,
Breaking it off into the bloodstream, sick,
Ending this lovely little game,
Begging like pathetic little vermins,
Don't let us go yet,
Just give us one more drop,
One more hit and we'll be set,
To muddle and fuck around,
Day to day in miserable lives,
Dreams of decadence screaming,
The picture in the back of our eyes,
And when the nighttime falls,
Over sobriety all alone,
We'll climb from our cased cucoons and find,
That delicate fifty-one,

Sunday, August 2, 2009

The Swan

You have captivated my attention like the sight of a swan gracefully leaving this frozen blue lake known as life. Flying to some far off exotic land, searching always, for something new. She never worried that her absence might cause some great distress to me. That I would grieve to death myself for the lack of her essence. The calming flow of her laughter that was infectious at times, no longer readily available when I needed it. The words of caring affirmation that slipped through her lips like grains of sugar. She never worried how or where the world would move without her once she's gone.

She is gone now.

They told us all today the bitter truth. Impossible to swallow, yet shoved down our throats into our souls like rotten meat, to make us ill. I'm still vomiting it all back up as if it would reverse reality, making it just a dream, or a horrible nightmare rather. They told us you could no longer breathe. Could no longer stand to smile, daily, into the simple divinity of your pain as if it weren't real. Could no longer stand to fight for a future that you knew didn't exist. Could no longer tolerate the cancer-like disease that was eating away at your soul instead of your body.

Could no longer all in fact...

I screamed for you time and time again. So loudly that a few times those glass walls around your brain cracked. Oh, but they never would shatter, would they? No...and no matter how loudly I screamed for you, called for you, my voice was never loud enough to overpower the voices that lived in your own head. Whispering...Debating....and then Debilitating you into sickness and sorrow so deep that you could never come out again.

They said it surely had to be an accident. Oh, but I'm not that blind, not that stupid, and not that naive. You were drowning in this blue lake of life, just like Virginia Woolf. Just praying to fly away someday. Maybe then you could breathe again. Could feel again. Could see more clearly and without this tainted vision of ours.

So I'm watching you, in my mind's eye, taking that beautiful swan-dive from out of your window that let you fly away finally. And I'm just wondering...what is it like to breathe again?

Friday, July 31, 2009

Like Father Like Daughter

It's been years since you left me this way. Dead on the inside and dead on the outside too at times. Oh, but I still see you so clearly. I see you every time I look in the mirror. I see your eyes stare back at me, devoid of life and health, devoid of love. I see your lips smile at me when I grin while I'm smoking. When I open them to devour another handful of pills that I don't need but crave desperately. When I swallow the last mouthful of Merlot. I see everything I hated about you and everything that you could have been. Now I only see them on myself, though. Because you are nowhere to be found. But you have managed to leave me here, cleverly, with all of your old ghosts and skeletons. The ones that have infected me with a disease that, even though it isn't contagious, is still threatening to everyone around me. Somehow I've managed to hate you so badly, that I have become you. Right down to your addictions and personality traits.
I often wonder how I became someone that left me. How I became someone that I swore was my lifelong enemy. How in the hell did I become someone that abused me? Used me? Dashed in and out of my life like a goddamn fairy godmother, always promising better and more wonderful things, but at the end of the night was gone like everyone else. Oh yes, and then when I became sick like you were, they all left me behind. Sick of me like they were sick of you. If I had a dollar for everytime that my mother said to me "You're just like your father" or "You're becoming like your father" believe you me, I would be a wealthy woman. Instead, I'm left here with your stupid ghost and it would seem that I am destined to become like you.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

The Most Borderline Thing I've Written In Years....Turn Back Now!!!

The world has been spinning lately. I can't pinpoint what's wrong with me. Maybe (most likely) just the same old Bipolar shit as usual. Of course, my boyfriend, thinks it's mostly Borderline. Well...whatever. I've officially come back into the depressed phase of living. Oh the joy. It's been worse lately than it has in a long time. I've actually thought about killing myself. Isn't that fun? I feel absolutely out of place. I don't belong anywhere. I find myself alone most of the time, even when there are people around. I can't make it go away. Sarah moved into my room and now I'm basically homeless. I feel as though I'm some pathetic moocher just like my biological father, David was. My mother says I'm turning out like him. She's been saying that for years though. If she would have refused to let Sarah move in though, maybe I wouldn't be a moocher. I wonder if she thought of that? I wouldn't be HOMELESS then. People ask me where I'm from, I tell them I'm from here and there. What else are you supposed to say to that? "Oh hey how ya doing? I'm Jacqie. I'm a homeless bum from absolutely nowhere and I have no home to go back to and aren't you glad to meet me?"
No, I don't think that would work out very well. (Fuck that sounded really borderline right there) I can't help it though. I feel like shit. So I'm ranting about my misery. Misery loves company after all.
My anxiety is through the roof. I hate being alone. But I feel alone all the time. I'm a mess in that area. I haven't had anxiety issues for a while. I feel like screaming, ripping my veins open, and then slipping into a bathtub and staining everything a beautiful shade of burgundy. What's wrong with me? I was fine and then all of a sudden, BOOM! It all falls apart. It mostly started when Sarah moved in. As if it weren't bad enough she took my life from me. Her and Jon. I was happier. I had more life to me. I had confidence in a sense. I had a mother who could oogle and ogle over me and a dad who would take me fishing. I had a church that even though I was a little wild, knew I was the best prospect for all the drama plays, and cast me in a leading or semi-leading role. I was better than this. I was more well. I was semi-healthy. Before everything just fell the fuck apart. Back to Sarah and Jon though. I got stuck with her piece of shit life, and made something of it, and her kids love me. They thought of me as a mother. I raised them for 5 years. 5 years on May 12th, 2009. I went to school with that life she shoved off on me. I became sick and then fought my way back from hell. It's been a real fight too.
Now she's back. The vampiric bitch is back to suck the life out of the life she threw away. Once she's gone through 2 lives of mine, I am innately curious to see where that leaves me. I feel like everything I had worked for, or everything I had left, has slipped through the cracks in my palm and is blowing away from me. I feel like it's left me homeless and without family. I feel like I'm starting to crack into a million little pieces. Drugs haven't looked this good in a long time. I want a cockatail, a cocktail of 3 Effexors, 2 Geodon, some Lithium(even tho it makes me puke) and maybe some Rozarem (about 2). Then everything will be just fine. I miss my cockatails right now. They made everything numb. So blissfully numb. My ED thoughts are flaring up too. Starvation and Control. I'm so fat and hideous that I make myself sick. I keep thinking that if I can JUST be thin enough, skinny enough that my ribs show and my hipbones jut out sharply, that I'll be worth loving. If only just for my lovely outsides. Bulimia helped me lose 45 lbs from March to May of this year. I need to lose another 30 before I can fit back into anything and not look like a fucking COW. My Dr always said that I should weigh about 150. I need to weigh 120. I'll be beautiful then. I'll look like an emaciated junkie, but God, who cares? I'll be beautiful. I won't be fat. I'll be able to fit nicely into 60's clothing and be a hippie. I could be one of those beautiful model-esque girls who sit around and smoke and look lovely doing it. I need to start puking again. I need to get some Adapex. I need to do SOMETHING. I'm miserable and am going to DIE if I don't move somehow.
I'm running from myself. I'm running from my pain. I'm running from everything. But that's okay. It's how I got past James Todd, it's how I'll make it past Bryan Medlin. It's how I'll survive.

My boyfriend is pushing me into therapy. Because I'm sick and he's probably tired of hearing about everything. I talk too Goddamn much. I need to learn to just shut up and cut the pain out. I need a razorblade...

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

To You -Unfinished, please no comments yet-

In the beginning, while in the throes of a maddening disease, you seeped into my veins. You became like an addiction so perfect, that I thought you would save me from myself. A foolish head believing a foolish heart. You seemed to be willing to love me. For a Borderline you were the perfect dream. One that was to become the perfect nightmare. All of the beautiful promises wrapped me in a fog so dark that I lost my way. It was all a lie, unfortunately. Your name. Your face. Your love. Your everything. You were just one perfect, beautiful lie. One that became an all consuming fire that engulfed my inner light and snuffed it out just as quickly as it began to burn.
For six months, six beautifully bittersweet months, you were my dream man. Charming, Passionate, Romantic, Understanding, Desirable, Mannerly, and yet, with a slight tint of morbidity and hate bubbling like a vat beneath the surface. Never did I stop to consider that I would ever be burned by your hate.
You were like me I thought. You were my perfect match. Like a drug you caused me to hallucinate in shades of white and lavender, dreaming of rings and honeymoons. Like a pathetic, homeless mutt I lapped up your affection with great intensity and thirst. How sickening it all seems now...
Then one fantastic Spring morning, with everything so beautiful in bloom, you ripped the sun clean out of my world. Everything was left so dark I could no longer see anything anymore. You dealt the first blow to my heart. Unfortuantely, I was still so forgiving and loving that I made an effort to look past the darkness that you had become. Still searching for the blissful light that had entranced me I twirled about looking for you so desperately, that I became sick with vertigo. The dizziness replaced what little clarity I had managed to attain through therapy and medications. It was then that I really began to feed the addiction of the bottles of pills that lined my cabinet so nicely.
Slowly but surely, I began to reclaim some sense of normalcy, and just as that happened, blow number two came. Her name was Lisa. She was bottle-redhead with hygiene issues of her own. As if your's weren't enough to last the two of you for a lifetime. Pictures upon pictures of you both emerged into my vision. In a moment of sorrow so great and so complete, I could only hear the sound of my brain cracking apart, right along with my heart. Was it me? Or was she just better in bed than I was? Or was it because I was fatter than her? (I now know this to be IMPOSSIBLE!) What was it? Why did you prefer some street walker to me?
I wrecked my nerves and sanity trying to figure it all out. Then one day I just asked you outright. To my dismay, you couldn't even tell the truth on that. You said "She's just a friend and she'd never been kissed." Did you think I was dumb? Didn't you ever stop to think that I was a woman myself? Obviously not because you insisted until the day we parted. But a picture is worth a thousand words, and those words no matter how hurtful, screamed louder truth's than you ever could have.
In a fit of self-hatred for not being "good enough" for you, I drove myself into the psychiatric ward at Methodist. What was there left to live for? You didn't love me. If you didn't love me why would I ever be worth something to anyone again? I was so encompassed by you and you alone that I forgot that other people lived in this fucked up world besides us, besides YOU. Still, I refused to give up on you. Completely and entirely I was devoted, somehow rationalizing that if I could just prove I loved you enough, you would see the error of your ways and love me back. Who couldn't you just love me back?
Upon entering Methodist you called me on the phone. I thought at first you wanted to check on me. I had no idea that it was because your friend was on the line and needed confirmation that I was really in the "Nut House" so to speak. You paraded me around like a tattered flag, one the waved the words "Badass" and "Hardcore" in that language that I'll never understand. The language of Stupid Youth. I was dying slowly and you could only manage to stare at me while I cracked into a million little shards of hurt. I will always hate you for that.
Somehow while in there, I was nearly raped, and you laughed. My mind, that was breaking apart, finally shattered over the next five months. I engaged in things I never would have had I been healthy. Some things I don't remember and some things I remember with intense regret. You drove me so hard and fast that my love tank ran all the way down to Empty. I was empty. So empty, in fact, that I had an affair of sorts with a married man. Not that I needed that on my conscience along with everything else mind you.
Finally, feeling like the world was over, I took my most recent overdose November 6th, 2007 at 12:00 am. I was crying so hard that I was hyperventilating. I'm amazed that I choked the pills down at all. I then crawled into bed with my suicide letters. The one to you apologized for not being good enough. For never being what you deserved. It makes me nauseated to just think about that...
The next morning, I didn't wake up, I was dead as a doornail. Which is still the most incredible experience of my life. One that I'm not ready to repeat anytime soon. Just know that there is a hell and I hope you burn in it. After reviving me, I landed myself in Methodist again in the ICU, with the other dying people in there. After that it was Third Phase and then back into Methodist again because I was losing it so badly that I ran away from Third Phase after cussing out one of the Christian attendants.
My only option was Methodist again and after another two days in there I finally broke free. Death wasn't an option anymore. I was harder to kill than Cher and cockroaches! What was the point? What the hell did God want me here for? Why didn't you love me? Could I ever be loved if you couldn't love me? I'm still unsure about that last one. Fortunately the first two have been answered clear as crystal in the past year and a half. You turned me into the worst Borderline while I was with you. I became a stranger to everything and everyone except you. Like a perfect little ragdoll that you could toss around and not worry about because her insides were stuffing or something. But I felt every blow you ever dealt to me. I felt everything you ever said and did. Every slap. Every time you tried to choke me. Every time you made fun of me for what ever reason it was. Every time you told me I couldn't go someplace because you needed me.
You turned me into your goddamn whore/slave. You watched with laughter bubbling up from your black heart as I died a little more every day. Every goddamn day. I stopped breathing because of you. I stopped living. I gave you everything I had. Got nothing in return. But I stayed with you long after I was just a shell of a person. Long after I became stabilized. But the moment I became well, and saw that you were sick too, I forced you into a corner. Didn't I? Yes I did. I made you go to work. I made you get a van. I made you be RESPONSIBLE. What I thought was you growing up was you actually growing apart from me. Growing slowly apart from me because you weren't really ready to marry me. Weren't really ready to love me. You are INCAPABLE of loving you ugly bastard. You are incapable of satisfying a woman in bed. You are incapable of EVERYTHING that it takes to be a REAL man. You are ugly on the inside. Uglier than I could ever be. I'm ugly, yes I am, but you? You're just the vomit from a drunken man that lies on the side of life's highway. You'll never be repaired. You'll never be worth anything. You're just an ugly piece of me that I wish I could cut off and toss away and forget about! Unfortunately I cannot. Fortunately I learned from you.
I learned that the dream I held onto when everything else failed me isn't even attainable by damaged goods like me. Because damaged goods don't get put back on the shelf. They get tossed out or given to the Goodwill. Now that I'm in the Goodwill. I hope someone will buy me. I'm still good for a few things. Not alot but maybe I'll be useful to someone out there. Maybe they'll even grow to love me back you know? Maybe!
Eventually you will realize that I was the best woman in the world when you met me. I may be damaged goods now, but I was once great. I was the perfect Stepford Wife. I was the perfect Stepford Mother to my kids. I was awesome. I will be awesome again one day. I'll always have these ugly scars you left on me, but I'll cover those up with the makeup of success. I'll make myself beautiful again. Inside and out. I won't be so goddamn bitter. I won't be so cynical. I'll be someone's Stepford Wife and someone's Stepford Mother. Of course...I'm still a Stepford Mother. I never did lose that. You always did hate it when I picked the children over you. Given the opportunities again I would have picked them MORE. They love me. Scars and trashiness and all. Now that they're leaving me soon, I realize, to my immense regret that I spent too much time and energy on YOU. That energy could have been put towards something USEFUL for the future.

Monday, June 29, 2009


A black velvet sky,
Splashed filthy with glittering stars,
Hangs softly above the satin sheen,
Of your alluring eyes,
That gaze into my core, ripped open for you,
As if I could hide anyways,


You never miss a trivial thing about me,
Frightening and intriguing all at one time,
I scrambled in fear,
Searching for a place to hide,
Like the fox running from the hound in need of prey,
Behind thoughts, desires, expressions, and words,
Placed oh so perfectly in condescending order,
But you saw through the brush of my lies,
Right down deep into my hiding place,
I feel stripped, naked, bare...
Reeling from the delirium in my head,
This newfound freedom caused me to run and race and trip and fall,
Swirling and twirling down into a cosmic suction of,
The black hole where I am now...
Where you are...
With the black velvet sky hanging so far beyond those satin eyes of yours...

Venus' Doom

A perfect cerulean morning,
The liquid-white of the clouds, so aimless in the sky,
In perfect contrast with the burnt-black of your putrid heart,
The faux amorous lies that have fallen so honey-sweet from your pillowy lips,
And like an infection, incurable,
You have seeped into the foolish little veins,
The foolish little veins that I so love,
Nearly disintegrating them into ashes,
Causing them to begin to float away upon a billowy summer's wind,
With childlike petulance I have chased them,
Found every one of Humpty-Dumpty's pieces, and have sewn him together again,
Placing Dorothy back in Oz,
And now that Michelangelo's Venus is beautiful once more,
Glowing brilliantly with youthful radiance,
I am slowly watching your lustful, cheap eyes gaze upon it with that familiar desire,
The one that singes and scorches everything in the wake of it's touch,
But keep watching, bitch,
Your bordello called,
They need their whore back...

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Coffee, Ciggarettes and Whores

Red-tinted smiles,
Shot eerily over leather-bound love,
Can you breathe?

You feel the lollipop lust eminating,
So sweetly fraudulent from her candy lips,
Mezmerizing you into stupidity like the thought of your morning coffee,
So cloudy with it's addicting liquid reverie,

And tempting you now with her malicious adoration,
Strung so brightly above you like the array of holiday lights at Christmas,
You have become a junkie,
Lost in the motel-room of her embrace,
Empty-eyed like the other Washington Street whores,

You just need one more fix, right?
One more sugared-up, neon injection,
One more toxic acid rush flowing warmly through your brittle veins?

"Does she make you feel alive still?"
I ask you over coffee at midnight,
The little white clouds still astounding you,
But you ignore my plea for healthy sanity to bleed into your broken down mind,

You're lurking in love's graveyard, buried inside the coffin of her love,
Beneath the weight of her will,
She has broken you completely I fear,
Tumbling down, spiraling as quickly as a ciggarette burns,

You're all too happy to be blissfully lost,

As we chatter endlessly into the morning,
The feathery lightness of her fingertips seduces your mind,
So locked within the prison of your own heart,

I try in vain to rip the indigo sash from your throat,
Constricting your heartbeat to nothing,
I am too late...
She has captured you again from me,
One final time to my violent dismay,

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Hopelessly Addicted

I have become addicted to your kiss,
The velvet satin of your eyes,
As they wash over my burning flesh,
That is dripping wet for you,

Don't you realize?

I am intoxicated with the very drug of you,
Always needing my next fix,
Praying, Pleading,
No longer bleeding,
Can't I have just one more hit?

The way you touch me inside,
This world no longer feels real,
Digging my nails into bare flesh, black sheets,
The screams I can't conceal,

The weight of your body against me,
Your hands that grip my wrists,
I'm screaming your name more loudly,
With each powerful thrust of your hips,


So Supernova!
Glitter blinding my world,
My eyes,

Everything is hazy now around me...

As I fall the sound....of your sighs....

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Pills II

These brigh coloured pills,
Made to make me feel so nice,
Have become just another,
Complexing torture device,
Brought straight to me,
By the man in white coat,
Selling me his promises,
Of fraudulent hope,
I take them all daily,
Throw them deep into my core,
I wonder if I would be well,
If I took 60 or so more?
I'm saving them up now,
Bottles line the empty shelves,
Tired of trying to rely on you,
To save me from myself,
Won't wake up in the morning,
Can't take another day,
Of swallowing pills that make me,
Grow colder with each passing day

Liars Masquerade -Unfinished-

I've lied as long as I can for you,
Grinned wide and bore the pain,
So you would never really know,
I'll never be the same,
The facade has begun to crack,
Into a million little shards,
Manifested on my wrists,
As cherry blossom hearts,
I've bound both hands behind me,
Masqueraded as though I'm dumb,
Sewn my lips into muteness,
So you'd never know I was coming undone,

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

I’ve swallowed my antiquity
Drowned out the brilliant screams
Taped all up, the sickness stuck
Way down deep in me
I’ve grinned away reality
Smiled away the pain
But even though I try, I can’t deny
Things always stay the same
The silence is a killer
White noise it deafens me
Makes my mind sick, the darkness stick
To my soul it seems to be
Daily I take my life
From a bottle on my shelf
Dream of you, become unglued
Your memory’s my only wealth
Take this day my daily bread
And pills by cups and pounds
Drink some wine, to buy some time
And drown out all these sounds
My sickness is getting farther
From my soul I really think
The world is black, but all I lack
Is beginning to finally shrink
They put me in the ground
And now again you’re mine
I feel you there, without a care
And everything’s just fine


I wish there was a pill
To drown out all my sorrow’s
A pill to swallow daily
To brighten my tomorrow’s
One to fix the ache
Ever present in my soul
One to throw down in me
Into this never ending hole
But the pills they never work
Not red or white or green
They never seem to silence
The awful nighttime things
I wish they made a pill
To make my dreams come true
But most of all I think I wish
There was a pill to bring back you

Pretty Girl Suicide

Do you remember me?
The one with tainted dreams
The girl that never makes a sound
But inside she screams and screams
Her heart it left her vacant
And her smile she has to fake it
Trying to keep up the lie
That convinces people she can make it
They never see her world
That turns and twists and whirls
The one that holds her, shattered
Like the other little girls
I’m the teenage drama queen
I puke my soul up for self esteem
You’ll never see how I really feel
Just how I want to seem
I sold all my tomorrow’s
Drowned my talents in sorrow
Held my breath while overdosing
And dreamed of not waking in the morrow
I screamed a silent rose
Bled beneath my clothes
But you only looked and never saw
I guess it’s what you chose
You took me to a shrink
While my hope began to shrink
Made me spill my sickness out
To be told I was missing some links
So now I’m sitting here
Telling you my dear
That I hope you someday wake up
But I’m not going to be here
Got a pretty rope
Hang me up with hope
Dry my veins of pain tonight
Does anyone care?
Nope.. .

Work in Progress...

And I,
I’m still alive,
Just like the tears you never cried,
And I,
I should have died,
My self righteous suicide,
And you,
You’re just a ghost,
And my soul is your only host,
And I,
I keep you here,
Locked up with all my fears,
But if,
If you would only see,
How much you meant to me,
Then I,
I think that I,
Would have been alright I believe,
And now,
Now I’m hiding myself away,
Inside of a dismal fate,
Don’t you,
Don’t you see?
I’m waiting for you here within the snow covered trees,
And I,
I wait for you here,
Within the land of dreams,
Of love,
Love and nighttime screams,