Every day just seems to bring more problems that accumulate faster than I can fix them.

One of those problems was finding a family friend dead on his bathroom floor. He had stopped taking his medications and replaced them with Busch. He spent his last few days in a drunken stupor until his heart gave out.

What I seem to be struggling with the most is that I’m not sad that he’s gone. I’m not even angry that he gave up. I think I’m jealous that he found a way out.