Sunday, July 29, 2012 @ 3:23 AM
If you really wanted to know...
It's a lonely and very melancholy realisation when you find yourself blogging in the absence of people to really talk to.
Please don't read on if you don't want to know, because there are no limits. It's no bar and I'm furious.
I've tried to be understanding and supportive (as much as I can be; given this topic).. and I've come to realise that maybe it's not enough for you.
But to be honest, I'm really tired.
But to be honest, I'm really tired.
So here it is, the truth about how I feel... and this is the last time.
I hate that you smoke pot. I hate it not only because it's a drug (and therefore has side affects) that you depend on, but I hate that you can't even admit it.
You sneak off just to smoke up and when you do, I feel so betrayed.
I say sneak off because you not only don't tell me about it, but you avoid contact with me. A relationship is built with trust and if I can't even trust you to be honest about where you go, then honestly..
It's really shit knowing that you'd rather smoke up. And you pretend it's for the sake of hanging with your 'mates' but really, who are you lying to? Me or you?
A friend won't be someone that calls you out purely to smoke up. If you were in a bad situation, do you really think they'd be there for you? Or that they'd even be able to help you?
A nice person does not a good person make.
Then there is the person you become when you do smoke.
When you're high, it feels like you simply don't care about me.
When you're high, it feels like you simply don't care about me.
And truthfully, it's not the first time I've had this impression.
We've talked so much about this before; never really reaching a decision.
Sometimes, I wonder if the real answer is to give you an ultimatum.. Me or drugs.
Sometimes, I wonder if the real answer is to give you an ultimatum.. Me or drugs.
But then, I'm scared that in the end, you won't even pick me.
And I think that is what hurts me the most.
The fact that I can't guarantee that I come first.
