The worst part of it all?

The worst part of it all is that as much as I want to HATE you, I can’t.

Because if I hated you that would mean I’d hate a part of myself too.

And that seems a bit counter-productive for my therapy goals right?

Like, I’m supposed to be so angry at you for the pain you’ve caused me.

It’s supposed to teach me to accept the love I deserve,

to never let someone hurt me again like you did.

But the truth is, the only reason you were able to hurt me so much is because we are one in the same.

If I hated you, I couldn’t possibly love myself.

I’d do absolutely ANYTHING for you.

And you’d do the same for me.

And I would never hurt anyone intentionally right, so you wouldn’t either.

Because you are me and I am you.

And yet. You had a vice I never once picked up that made you do things I couldn’t ever do because it wasn’t my vice. I didn’t have access to it.

Imagine, if you have 2 black canvases and then suddenly the one black canvas gets a shard of red pigment, while we are the same I don’t have your shard of red pigment.

And that’s what heroin did to you.

It was your shard of red pigment.

But all the while I still saw your black canvas,

just as I saw mine too.

I know they want me to hate you,

But I can’t hate you.

I hate your red pigment.

I hate heroin.

And I pray one day the red pigment will somehow escape your black canvas,

But until then I’ll walk out; mostly because I know you would hate what you’ve done to me.

So I’m going to leave so you can’t do it again.

For you, and for me.

One day we’ll sit and talk about this when the red pigment is gone,

And I’ll tell you I get it and I’m happy to see the black canvas again without the red pigment.

Until then I pray the red pigment doesn’t kill you.

Or me.