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11.18.02 @ 2:44 p.m. // just deal.
dear you and you and whoever else: i don't have time for your drug abuse for no good reason, and i don't have time for your drunken parties 'even though i know i shouldn't' and i don't have time for your excuses, because they've all been made before. i'm sorry your boyfriend couldn't make it to the party to get high with you last night. you know what i did last night? i did laundry and loaded the dishwasher and made dinner and settled fights and put five children to bed and stayed up until three in the morning with the sixth, and my boyfriend never showed up to get high with me, either. yes, i'm sure everyone is using and abusing you, and i'm also quite sure you do your share of using and abusing, so please save the melodrama. you say your life is miserable. maybe it's that way because you consistently choose to make it so. you say you hate who you've become. that's a good point; so do i. i wish i could say that i'll never let either of you bother me again. i wish i could say i'll never let you impact my life. that would be a lie, though, because i've given and you've taken and what can i do now? you've taken my time and you've taken my heart, and i knew there was no money back guarantee in either case. i guess i had just hoped i wouldn't need one. i guess i'll just deal. i wish i could say that i don't care anymore, but that'd be a lie, too. i care because you're pitiful, and i care because you're still wasting my time. i care because i'm watching your world, small and pathetic as it is, fall down around you, and there's nothing you'll let me do to stop it. i care because i'm stubborn, i care because you unfortunately matter, i care because i always have. i wish you hadn't destroyed everything you'd been given. i wish you would stop hurting yourself. and, you know, i wish you would stop hurting me. but you won't. you won't stop until the very, very end, and where that will leave any of us is more than i care to imagine. i have "dealt." i've dealt with my dad's cancer, i've dealt with the hospital rooms and the lack of income. i've dealt my whole life with my brother's disability, with the yearly visits to scottish rite in dallas, with the added responsibility that i couldn't begin to describe to you. i've dealt with abuse-- yes, you aren't the only one. i have the memories and the nightmares, and i hate them, and i can't drink them away. i've dealt because that is my only choice. those things are what i was handed, and you either take what you've been given and live through it or you lay down and die. really, it isn't the burden of life that weakens my desire to carry on so much as it is people like you. i can deal with cancer, i can deal with kids or work or my every day headaches, but what i have trouble dealing with is the fact that you don't even try. you are wasting your life and in turn you are wasting part of mine. you are a walking hypocrisy, and that is something i find very hard to deal with. so go smoke a joint, pop some pills, drown yourself in jack daniels, sleep with whoever'll hold still long enough. enjoy. and do not ever bring it to me again. i don't have time for you. i can't stand to be around you. when realization dawns, drop me a line. am i better than you? no, i'm not. i know more than anyone the extent of my imperfection and my utter humanness. you know what i am? i'm unimpressed. most sincerely, me.  last | host | next |