Diamonds Made of Glass

So you come home. You don't fucking hear me. I'm so fucking sick of this. When are you going to act like a parent? When are you going to see she is sick?! When, for goodness sake, are you going to get her help? She takes my medication. She drinks mouthwash to get alcohol into her system. She gets high on caffeine with ten cans of the cheap energy drinks from down the street. She is SEEING THINGS. And you come home and watch HOCKEY. What the fuck is wrong with you? When are you going to be a father and take her away? I am dying. Thanks to some lovely person called a therapist I am currently snapping a rubber band to wrist instead of cutting. It hurts more. It leaves a mark instantly. It is so fucking lovely and I feel so fucking ill. Hear me. See me. SEE HER. Get her help or I'm out. I'm not staying in a household where the only "available" parent gets the fuck out of sight whenever he sees it possible and comes home when I tell him to only to be here and not talk to the daughter currently messing herself up with sedatives and anti-depressants and sleeping pills. Is it selfishness of plain stupidity?