They say hell is other people. I think hell is being forced to watch someone you care about waste their life.
It's not like I can turn away. We live together. When you smoke weed right outside my door til 3am, and when you drink so much I don't know which of your personalities I am going to meet in the hallway, where am I supposed to go?
Maybe I'm exaggerating; maybe you are in control after all. I want to scream. Don't you know how great you are? Why would you ruin yourself this way?
Don't you understand I can't be here right now? You used to talk to me, but you are so close to her now. She's always in your room, eating your food and stealing your stuff. She's picking up your empty gin bottles and listening to your bad 70s soundtrack - the one that when I hear it I want to knock on your door and come in your room where she always seems to be.
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