out of step

It's only a matter of time before I go ballistic,  it's only a matter of time before I get frustrated, because that's what I do, because I can't keep these thoughts and feelings inside. Because I care about you, because it hurts me to see you get so fucked up and not want to admit it. It hurts me that there's so much good in you but you don't take care of yourself.

And not only that, but over the past month or so since we reconnected, I get resentful of playing second fiddle to your addictions. I like that you respect me but is it so much to demand that you respect my time instead of showing up late or punking out all together because there was something to drink or smoke somewhere else?

And this is normal in this city. This is the way my generation functions when the cost of living is low enough and the standards even lower that this is the recreation of choice for the majority of my peers. I hate this so much.

 I come home and can't sleep and lay there staring up at the ceiling as the wind howls. And I think of my sister and my cousins and my friends from high school and my friends from college and my friends from adulthood and everyone else who has a heart of gold and a fucked up liver and life hurtling towards ruin. Maybe I'm crazy but what I see with my clear eyes isn't good.

 I can't stop feeling, I'm tired of passively enabling and excusing. I won't do it anymore and I can't pretend it doesn't depress the hell out of me. Because if I stop feeling I stop being human, and being human means that sometimes I break down and get angry over shit being fucked up, and sometimes I get depressed because that's a natural response. I can't be calm because I'm no angel, no saint, no bodhisattva. I wish I was. I usually regret what I've said, but this time I wish I had said more, and sooner.