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...