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.


  1. WOW!!!! (sorry honey, you know I had to leave a comment on this one) I love you, girlie. ~k

  2. PLEASE put a follow button on ur blog so i can keep up with u! I love what ur writing! xx