"Allowed."

"I'm allowed to smoke weed and drink," he announces to his friends while sucking on a blount. "She doesn't care about that."

I hate these moments. It's stupid in 2 ways...I'm not giving out permission. I'm not in any position to give out permission. And if I were giving out permissions, smoking pot and drinking wouldn't be on my permission list.

I always want to jump in and explain these two things, but it feels like a place where I should just detach. I left...went home. Went to bed. It was ok.

Later, I explained to him that I wish he'd be more careful with his brain. His brain is all fucked up, and he knows it, and he knows he needs to leave it alone and let it heal itself. And that was all...I said my thing.

This is the third or fourth time he's smoked pot since he's quit with the heroin. Of course, pot is a better alternative to heroin, and three or four times in 3 months isn't a big deal. Or it wouldn't be a big deal if he didn't have such a combination of emotional problems and addiction. But he does, so it's a big deal.

I'm not going to worry about it, though. I'm not going to think about it. I can't let his shit bog me down.