Next time? There won’t be a next time. Because next time you invite me to stay at your home to get out of the cold or out of an abusive situation, I won’t take you up on the offer. I already know the outcome. I’ll either be kicked out, have the cops called on me, or 302’d. For what? For being a good person? For asking for help for once in my life? For waking up to the illusion you don’t even know about yet? For doing the right thing? For caring?

This is all after you play the good guy n invite me in with open arms only to turn around n stab me in the back because you’re afraid of your own son, daughter or worse yet, your own pathetic self.

I already feel unwelcomed on every doorstep I set foot on in the past, present n future.

Don’t invite me for the weekend if you don’t really mean it. Don’t invite me to your home so you can practice with your severely codependent tendancies as you unleash your ‘saving the world from Bipolar’ campaign. Don’t offer to fly me across country to escape abuse if you don’t follow through. Don’t tell me you would do anything for me when that clearly isn’t the case. 

Next time, put a mat outside your door that reflects your true character.

As for me, there will be no next time.

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