A Ramble. A vent.

Handi-snacks are not dinner. You know better than this. You do not tell me you are not hungry and do not want any of the healthy dinner chosen only to eat unhealthy options. Do you want to have another heart attack? Are you wanting to leave your children as orphans already? Do you want to leave so young? You haven’t even had your 66th birthday yet. Was the triple bypass not enough to scare you into a better life? Do you and your lies about your healthy ways feel good? Did those three candy bars you bought and stuck in your purse taste good? Did yelling at me and then lying to me about not doing it not even five minutes later feel good? Are you even aware of what you are doing? Are you aware I love you? When you ask me what is wrong and I tell you… Don’t throw your hands in the air and scream that everything must be your fault. That isn’t what I said. Don’t play the fucking victim because I’m getting sick of it. I know I can do better, but I can’t if you don’t let me. I can’t if you keep me trapped. I don’t want to lose you, and I know you don’t want to lose me. The outcome isn’t looking good right now.


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