The anxiety of waiting for your addict to return is the worst. For me it’s not worrying about if he’s dead (them so don’t ever dead), it’s what state will he return in. 

Is he going to go quietly to bed? Is he going to want to kill everyone? Is he going to make noise and break things and vomit for hours? 

I’m so tired of jumping every time I hear a voice out front that sounds like him or what I think is the front gate. 

Now while my mother is cleaning up all his mess he’s happily going to sleep till tomorrow and wake up like nothing happened. While I stew for hours wanting to pick up a big stick and beat him. 

I can’t leave because I can’t leave my mother alone, she’s my best friend and probably the only person who loves me (I don’t even know why thank god for small mercies like unconditional love I suppose). She can’t leave because she doesn’t know any other life without him in it. 

But this house is getting too small for the three of us. How will we all survive here.



One thought on “anxiety. 

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