Some of the conversations Kevin and I had in the past really, really hurt me. But when I read a letter today that he sent my sister, instant fury went through me. As in Dale pisses me off fury. I want to write out a letter that tells him it's a little too late to be telling everyone that I never knew the "real" reason why he used. Who the fuck cares why he used? The whole point is the fucker used. I'm not one to say this, but some times, I feel like he ruined my life. I feel as if he got the "good" years. And those years were spent chasing his ass around from one project to another, dragging him home, only to be abused in some way or another. I am so fucking glad I am not with him anymore. But when he says shit like that, it pisses me off because I think to myself, would it have made a difference if he had told me? Would I have been more understanding? Then I think, hell no, I wouldn't, couldn't and still won't understand how someone can use crack for 10 years and go through almost $450, 000. How the HELL do you get that much dope in your fucking system when you are gone all the damn time?
I think of the money he wasted and what COULD have been done with it. Steve and I could be in our own home now, I could have went ahead with my doctorate. Steve and I could be living in OUR place, our dream. I love this house, I absolutely adore it, I would buy it in a heartbeat and restore it, but no, I had to let a motherfucking crackhead spend all my money. And what do I have to show for it? Scars on my body from burns and scars on my heart. And a lot of baggage that Steve has to contend with.
I wish Kevin did have a way to access the internet or have someone print more shit out for him. Because right now the only thing I have to say to him is I wish you were successful in the suicide attempt. You are worth more to me dead than alive. I hate you and hope you fucking burn in hell. So, print that Stacey Renee....
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment