Breathe in, breathe out

So I got a call from my BFF today asking if I could pick her up from the hospital and take her home as she was being discharged. Her partner couldn't pick her up as she was in meetings all day and couldn't get there til after 7pm and she wanted to go HOME. Well of course I'd get her. She's my FUCKING BFF.

On the ride home, the truth came out. Her partner is actually at home. She didn't go to work, she went to the doctor to get more fucking drugs and was drugged up. A way to make even Kimmie's homecoming all about her - not Kimmie.

Over the weekend I tried to keep cool when talking to Kimmie on the phone. I had no desire to hear about how "wonderful" her partner was being coming to visit her everyday (Right, but I'm the only one you could depend on when the shit hit the fan). Asking her "how this happened" (While you were passed out from all your prescription drugs). How "worried" she was about her (Guilt is a MOTHER FUCKER BITCH). How this looked like it was going to be the "breakthrough" in healing their relationship (Not in this lifetime, Kimmie).

I tried to keep cool and not point out what a cunt her partner is. She was in the psych ward fer chrissakes and I didn't want to upset her more than she already was.

So on the ride home, Kimmie began to get distraught again. She knew what was going to be waiting for her. She knew that she was just walking back into hell. I told her I couldn't come in and see her partner because I couldn't condone what she was doing to her. I helped her with her stuff and sure enough, there she was passed out in the chair.

I can't do more for her. She's got to love herself enough to get out.

I just worry what form that exit will take.