I've realized this time and again in the past few months, and each time I've pushed it away, saying I can do better. I can make him happy. But on the morning of the new year it became apparent to me that I can't truly make anyone be happy. I can't even help him be happy. If he's not happy, it's his affair, something he has to figure out for himself. I can give him all the love all the hugs all the tender words there are within me, I can shape my life so it centres around making things easier for him--a hot-cooked meal, a clean floor, a happy child, time to shower, time to nap--but none of it will ever be as effective as if he just goes down to the car and has a toke.
Can you understand this? Can you understand how it makes me feel realizing that I cannot measure up to pot? I cannot help him the way it does? I cannot ease his stress or his anger... I will never be as effective, as helpful as a toke?
Friday, January 04, 2008
part of a letter
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2 comments:
aww Im sorry hunni *hugs*
but maybe thats his thing. At least it isnt a six pack or 3 cocktails or cocaine. you know?
And honestly, make yourself happy, because thats all that matters (I know it sounds selfish) but it is what is most important.
*hugs*
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