My best friend called me today. I only hear from her these days when she is sober. Nice, huh? And she's only sober when she's broke. She's been shooting up the heroine again. No surprise there. This time chose a vein between her thumb and forfinger. (guess we're not bothering to hid it anymore) And it got infected. She's has MERSA in the past, and now has it in the injection site. It's not pretty. I said all of the right things. I felt like a robot when what I wanted to do was take her and start banging her head against the wall. I was NOT nice. I wasn't mean either. But I was blunt and brutally honest. I didn't tell her what she wanted to hear, I told her what she needed to hear. Her liver is shutting down. Her kidneys are shutting down. Her body is so overloaded with drugs and under nurished it is literally falling apart. Her teeth are crumbling from her mouth. Horrid thing to witness. I doubt she'll be alive 6 months from now at the rate she's going. And I told her so. Again we talked about rehab. No excuses. I wouldn't let her give me excuses. She called me back a while ago because I'd said I might stop by for a visit. She was higher than a kite. I didn't go over. I want no part of that. I know how not to enable. I know the right things to say. But it sure doesn't do much to help the frustration, the hurt, when you're watching your best friend, someone you care very much for, kill themselves slowly. I told her she has a choice to make. Rehab or a funeral. Sad to say, but I think I'll be attending her funeral soon. Makes me sick inside.