Dear friend, though the term doesn't truly carry, in my opinion, the abundance of your meaning to me,
You told me you quit. And I told you that I was anti-drug, and I've seen what they can do to people.508Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1D9WGqCmdo
I've watched the kids I grew up with from elementary school throw their lives away. I've seen two divorces and my family grasping at any ends to defend the unacceptable behavior of a father on his edge of sanity. I've seen a girl sobbing at a stop light, the front of her car in ruins while the police slowly lift a white sheet over the face of her friend's immobile body. 508Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbXVpfhdRd1
But, I know better than to try to control you. I know better than to try to cage back the extremeties of your emotion. So I respect you, and I respect your decisions, and I will be behind you every step of your life and I don't care how much we disagree.
And believe me, we disagree. Oh god, do I disagree. 508Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpn6RwdpEwM
But that doesn't mean I won't be there. I'm going to fight with you about it and you're going to hate me, and I'm going to call the police if it gets to be too bad to handle. I'm going to rat you out to your parents when you're 150 miles away drinking and taking I-don't-know-what with that college kid, and I'm going to take their side. But I'm going to be there, I'm not going away.
I'm not going to let you destroy yourself.
I keep thinking about that day. That day when he was high and you were 150 miles away in Canada. He was your only ride, and you wouldn't call the police because his innocence meant more to you than your own safety. Now, I would have called the police, but back then I was softer, I let myself feel guilty. So I drove, Michigan to Toronto, and picked your drunk, shaking body off of the ground.
I watched the smoke swell in your eyes, and fall out of your mouth like car exhaust. It wasn't difficult to get you away from him, what with his inebriated state. I watched you throw up out of the window, grotesque streaks left on my car door when I got home. I listened to you mumble and cry and scream, and beg me not to tell anyone. I won't tell you I was proud of you. I'm not going to tell you that it was okay. It's not okay, and I'm still mad at you.
You've exhausted the limits and I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. I've lost sleep, and I'm aware that I'm selfish. I'm selfish, and I don't want anything to happen to you because I know that I can't deal with it. What you mean to me, and my selfish motives, is too much to lose, no matter how high or pregnant or depressed you become. I know, I know everything. And I know that I alone cannot save you, but I can at least help you and I'm going to do as much as I can to help you, I promise.
But, I know better than to try to control you. You're going to have to learn to control yourself and I can't stop you. I'm not responsible for you.
Regardless, I'll be there to drive you home, to wash the smell out of your skin and coax the water into your pale lips. On those nights, when you want nothing more than to drink your life away and purge the memories like vomit, I'm going to force you to face your mistakes and live. I'm going to be there.
But next time, I'm calling the police.
It needs to stop. I don't care what I have to do to make it stop anymore.
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