Chicken and potatoes

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.  

Fucking shit fuck!

My mom's been calling and calling and I've been using the fact 

that I didn't have a phone as a justification for not making an effort to call her back.  

Truth.  I didn't want to.

She's so fucking sad, you know?  She sounds sick all the time. 

Her life is this insane string of hard thing after hard thing.

It's always killed me to have to listen to her talk about 

all the shit that goes on with her.

When I was with Max it was a constant source of 

stress and tension for me that he'd try to help with.

At some point I suggested we live with her.

He was like fuck no.  Then after a while he was like fine if you want.

Guilty guilty guilty.  

I spoke to her on my actual birthday and I was pissed the whole time.

Finally I had to say, "I'm hanging up now, I can't do this now."

And all I wanted to do was cry.  

My body just collapsed onto my bed and I sobbed but no tears came.

Andrei was outside the door doing some insane OCD cleaning 

and I knew I couldn't scream without him hearing me.

Goddamn.

How can I be there for her when I'm trying to figure out how to be there for me?

She doesn't ask for anything in return, she just cries.

That's worse.

This is the point in our conversation when you would be staring blankly into space 

and I would realize that you had long reached your 'I'm here for you' limit.

For someone in AA you have a surprisingly low tolerance for heavy talk.

But that's on you, boo.

I'm a little sick of me right now.

Wah wah wah, right?