Your double standards aren't livable for me. You have called me crazy and strung out, and everything in between. For someone you claim to love so dearly, you say some hurtful things, and yet, I stay quiet about the ugly truths about you. I don't say that you won't resolve your problems with your dead mother with me. I don't say that I may be a drug addict, but you aren't going to save me just like you could never have saved your mom. Maybe the truth is, you're not worth more than drugs. It's a tired thought. I stopped smoking pot, we do pills together, but I'm still the addict, aren't I? Wouldn't that make you one too? You're miserable because you came back to California on an idea that you could somehow make life easier for your grandparents and you really haven't. You don't talk to anybody, and you provide a small amount of money for living there and your phone bill, but what do you really do? You're like my mom, just there, not really helping but you feel better about yourself when you say that's the reason. Speaking of my mom, you judge her so harshly and you are so much like her, it's ridiculous. You keep people around just to use them, usually with the maybe off chance that you'll sleep with them. At least the people I keep around know they're disposable pets and they still stay, because I mean that much to them. You could never mean that much to anyone.
To be continued.