It’s 2:23 a.m.

We’re alone.

I hope it’s worth it. It hurts to think that the bottle of the party is worth more than Pickle, the baby and myself.

I sincerely hope the kids never have that same thought.

God has blessed us and my husband is making a mockery of it. I hope his ungratefulness and pride will not hinder the rest us. I guess I should be thankful that he is a God of mercy. God please take mercy on us.

I want my husband. Here, at home, in every sense. The boys need their Daddy 100%. I think sometimes that maybe he and I are not as connected as I believe. Why is it so good when we’re good and then just so terribly fucked up when it’s bad? I wonder if I’ve absorbed the potential of the man he could be instead of facing reality.

He can be a good man, with an awesome heart, but he is also a gorwn man who cannot break an addivtion and will not reach our and get the help he needs, for his own sake or even for ours.

I love this mand and more than anything I want us to have a family together. A strong family. But I’m not holding the cards right not.

Baby, please … come home to us. For Good. We need you.

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