I’ve been stewing on this for hours now since I yelled at you on the phone. I meant it, you know. So long as you choose meth over family I want nothing to do with you. Far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to me. You threw away eight years of sobriety and for what? Fucking meth. Soon you’ll be losing teeth, scratching at invisible bugs under your skin, and God only knows what else.
Want back into my life? GO TO REHAB. Until then I want absolutely nothing to do with you. I’m not going to let you drag me down.
I hope you’re proud of yourself, throwing away all those years of hard work to keep yourself away from the cheap vodka you used to guzzle down like you needed it to stay alive.
Mom’s upset all the time. She doesn’t want to outlive her own children. But unless you change you’re going to be the first of us to die.
Your bills are piling up here. Lawyers keep sending you letter after letter. You have a letter from San Francisco. Something to do with the toll on the Golden Gate Bridge. A registered letter came for you. None of us would sign for it. I told voter’s registration that you no longer live here and that we don’t really even know where you are.
Oh, that business you whined to mom about, claiming that it’s always her, dad, and me, and that you were never invited anywhere and it was never where dad wanted to go - that’s 100% pure bullshit. You were invited every single time and every single time you said “No.” There was always something more important to you on tv. Like some Lakers game or some half ass “documentary” on Bigfoot. The kind real Bigfoot seekers would laugh at and mock. As for dad - we can’t help it that except for Mi Casa he likes all the same places we like. And he’s always consulted. He gets a choice every single time.
You make me sick with your drugs and your lies.
Here’s your choices -
1: Go to rehab, get clean, and make something of your life or -
2: Never, ever contact any of us again.
That’s it. Those are your choices.
For God’s sakes, you’re 46 years old! You’re not some teen smoking pot thinking that it somehow makes you rebellious and cool. You’re a grown ass man who has chosen meth over having a real life. Fucking meth!
And you have no one to blame but yourself. You chose this of your own God given free will. You decided to do it. You decided to throw your life away. And only you can choose to reclaim your life and your manhood.
Until then, fuck off. Don’t ever fucking contact me again.