These are the only pictures I have of my 'addiction'...I don't usually show them off, but I try to be honest on my blog

If You Really Knew Me

If you really knew me, you'd know I feel awkward and ugly in comparison to Hayley. You would know that my biggest fear isn't spiders, it's being alone. I don't ever want to be alone, no matter what I say. If you really knew me, you'd have more patience. You would know that I only try in school so my parents might actually decide I'm worthy of being called their daughter. You would know how badly I want to escape, to run away forever.
If you really saw me, you'd see my bones poking through my skin. You'd notice that I get weaker and skinner every week. You'd notice that I don't eat half the food I put on my tray. You might see that I refused my favorite food. If you really saw me, you'd wonder why I wear knee-highs in gym and when I wear shorts. You might notice the dark circles under my eyes. If you looked, you would see that my eyes look glazed. You might ask about it, if you really looked.
If you didn't just hear the words that I say, but actually listened as well, you'd notice the life in my voice isn't as vibrant as it used to be. You'd hear the difference between what I sound like now compared to before. You might hear the pleading in my words. Maybe, just maybe, you'd hear my cry for help. You might hear the depressed tone, the dead humor.
If you really cared, you'd do something.

Academy Award (or whatever actresses get)

It amazes me what I can do by smiling. I can fool numerous people into thinking that I'm perfectly happy, incuding the people that 'know me best'. Sometimes, I fool myself. That's acting for you. No producers, no scripts, just reality. I don't know who directs this movie, but I want them fired..
The doctors tha are supposed to notice abnormal behaviors even fall for my mad acting skills. "What's with the wristband and sock tied around your leg?" "Oh, I just want to look cool." (While smiling) I can fool the teachers, too. "Why didn't you finish your assignment, Brenda?" "I'm sorry, I was so busy last night with all my Language Compacting and lessons and family bonding that I was so exhausted that I did terrible. Can I redo it?" "Sure, Brenda. No problem :)" In reality, I was 'busy' staring at the wall and wishing I could have a cigarette. A drink. Crank. Anything. Just something that will numb the pain. I spent the better portion of my night keeping my hands from rummaging through my drawers and finding my blade. I spent the other portion eading through Jim's first letter to the court requesting my immediate removal. I reviewed every accusation-from threatening to kill my parents to causing Hayley's stomach ulcer. I cried until two. That's a very calm night.
Woke up today, put on my award-winning smile, and went through the day without a breakdown. That deserves some kind of national recognition..

Cut

I'm asked so many times why I cut myself. I honestly don't know the exact purpose. But I do know what it feels like to carry the scars, to watch your hand control the blade that makes you bleed. I can tell you all the details about having to deal with this addiction.
I swore to myself that I'd stop. I promised so many people that I'd quit hurting myself, because it hurts them too. But I'm stuck in this mindset that, no matter who says they care, they don't. They just say that to make me tell them the lies that I believe them and I've stopped. I hate breaking that promise, but, as an addiction, it's painful to try to stop.
I guess cutting is a way to immediately rid yourself of the disgust and emotions building up inside myself. The fights, the tears, all that stuff. I write, yes, but sometimes, there are no words. There's no way to describe certain feelings. And sometimes I don't know how to say it. So my body insists on me releasing the indescribable feelings. Hence, a broken heart on my leg. A round bump on my left wrist. Or maybe open sores on my arms. Either way, it's self -harm.
But I don't know yet if I want to give up my addiction. I feel so terrible when I cut, but I also feel relieved. I can't scream, can't cry, so I feel so unburdened when the blood starts to show. So I'll continue to try to stop, for the sake of my friends.

Mirror

I call out to you
Every time we fight
You can't hear me though
You're too busy screaming
At me

I write you a message
Within my cuts
But you don't bother checking
My legs, my wrists. You're busy
Watching my medicine bottle

I sing a song to you
Hidden beneath my music
But you're critiquing it, so
You don't feel the pain
Within my lyrics

You try to reach out to me
To touch my hair and say
"I love you"
But I'm too busy hiding my face
To pay attention

You say my name
Trying to make me open up
But I'm busy running away
From you, so I don't hear
You

You hurt, I cry,
But we're too busy arguing
To notice that the person
We spend our time fighting
Is just a mirror

The Thought of Fear

I recently wrote a poem that alludes my father to 'the man called Fear'. I think it's very fitting, because if anyone ask me what my biggest fear in life is, I would say, without a doubt, that it is indeed James Frank Jacobs. I'm not scared that he'll kill me, I'm just terrified of him taking away everything that matters to me in my life. My music, sense of security, privacy (it's a dream in foster care..), my sisters and nephews, my newly-found addiction to learning to play and sing at the same time, and well, everything that I've known to be true. Yes, Daddy isn't exactly an ideal father, but he's been there, telling me how to live, for 13 years. I can't just leave that and expect everything to go away. All the fights, lies, deceit, blaming, everything. It won't leave. I don't want it to, either. It helps me see through the future lies and things that I know people will tell me.
I can't imagine a life without Jim there. I can't picture an era in which some piece of him doesn't remain inside of me. Maybe it's in the form of a knife, glass, a drink of water when I'm parched, or a hug. I'll never really know.
But Jim still terrifies me. He's every waking nightmare, every drop of blood. I can't even begin to explain that kind of fear. I say constantly that he doesn't scare me, cannot control me. But he can, and he has. He still does. Nothing either of us say can take away the years of fighting and threatening. No words can take away the scars and blood. It's just a part of me, and I can't-won't-get rid of it.
Yes, I brought most of the hardship on myself, I understand that. But that doesn't mean I don't tremble when I'm alone with him. That I don't clench my fists and stare at my covered legs, hoping that he doesn't see my pain. I can't stand not knowing what his motives are, why he's acting like nothing ever happened. No apologies, no resolution, just another concert. But this one is his concert, not mine. I'm just the second most needed role.

Revoke??

I'm honestly debating whether coming 'home' is a good idea. I've turned back to my addictions, my temper has worsened, and I'm irritable 24/7. I don't know what to do... I'd ask God, but we're not really on speaking terms, as much as any Christian would argue. I'm at loss. Writing is no longer a comfort, singing is hypocrisy, and I don't have the muscles yet to play my cello for 6 hours. And anything I do is useless anyway. My mom brags about me all the time. It's as if she only wants me to do music so she can show me off. Oh, Brenna can play such a beautiful piano song. Oh, and have you heard her new cello duet? It bugs me! I'd be perfectly happy never playing in front of an audience again, unless it's something I want to do. Not her. It's my life.

Silent Tears

People ask me why I don't cry
All I say is I don't try

Because every time I do
People say, "What's wrong with you?"

They ask the question, then they leave
I'm left wiping tears on my sleeve

So I ignore that and go home
And I am left all alone

I take out my blade and say
"No one cares, do it anyway."

I've learned to ignore the pain
Where do you think I got my fame?

From cutting my wrists and hiding it
Hiding the cuts, telling the fibs

No one knows the secrets I hold
Because I'm just not that bold

I havent told my friends, my mom
I'll hold them til my life is done

They're secrets that I can't explain
They say why I hide my pain

I just want to be loved and hugged
To be told someone's proud of what I've done

But no one's said that, no one sees
That without any of these things

I'll never feel accepted, I can't believe
Anything people say to me

It's just too late to undo what's been done
The clouds of my life hide the sun

This might sound stupid, even dumb
But to other people, this is fun

They like to tease me, they want to see
What this hell has done to me

Reason to Live

My child, my child
Why aren't you listening?
I call to you daily
I even scream your name
I can feel all your sorrow
Every cut makes Me bleed
If you let Me be there for you
Ill be just what you need

Open your eyes
Open your heart
Can't you see you're falling apart?
I'm gently knocking
Asking you to let Me in
My arms are wide open, waiting
For you to run into them

Every time you cry, I cry
I know how it felt when you wanted to die
I'll be your Father, Protector, Friend
I'll be there for you until the end

Chorus

I've been with you since the beginning
I loved you even before then
I know you're crying out to Me
I know you always have been
I'll save you from your sadness
You'll get everything I give
I'll free you from your addiction
I'll be your reason to live

The War

This war, this attacking
Is tearing families apart
Things are dying, people crying,
When will it stop?

As we do one-on-one battle
Shout our insults back and fort
Your tongue, like a sword
Stabs at my heart

Your defensive shield
Lets nothing I say bother you
It all bounces back
And hurts me in the end

My armor is weak and helpless
Against your weapons and words
But I say one thing
That stops you in your tracks

I shout it over and over
Until the battle stops
Everyone heard me say it
"Daddy, I'm sorry; I love you!"