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.

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...

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.

Delirium

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,

No...

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...

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,

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,

Climaxing...

So Supernova!
Glitter blinding my world,
My eyes,

Everything is hazy now around me...

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