The functional alcoholic has started into that swift decline. Most days I leave for work mid morning, and he's still hold up in his room. Today I got home around 4pm. Drunk and shirtless, Nabal was trying to cook. He could barely stand. His friends told me it was moon shine and a pill from someone with bipolar disorder, and they were happy- he wasn't smoking his cocaine... Yeah, bent spoons in his room, white powder all over the glass. He's not gotten paid for at least 2 months. I need to pick up more work. I need to get into the gym to get strong enough to pull more hours. He passed out, after falling down several times. He's now on his knees, passed out, torso on the sofa. He was so inebriated he was unintelligible. Except when he yelled how much he liked getting high.
Depressed doesn't begin to describe, because there's no time for depression. Buckle down and try to finish with something to leave the kids. Haha, at least I'll never have the luxury to say I'm too old for anything. I'll go, until I fall. Gonna be a bumpy rise.
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