September 14, 2002 | 1:05 PM

Last night someone said to me with tears streaming down his face,

I have ruined every single close relationship I�ve ever had with anyone. Please give me another chance. I love you.

I said,

I can�t keep letting you hurt me anymore. It�s like what you wrote-- you can�t decide whether you want to fuck me or kill me. And I just can�t do it anymore. I can't take the bullshit. I can�t. You treat me like shit and I deserve better.

I promise I�ll be better. I�ll try. I won�t hurt you anymore.

I sighed and reached for a cigarette.

I don�t think you know how to be with me and not hurt me. And I don�t know how to be with you and not let you hurt me. And I resent you. And I�m angry at you. And I don�t want to feel like that. I won�t allow myself to feel like that anymore. I am not going to let you hurt me again.

But I was lying. He was hurting me as I spoke. Just looking at him hurts me. Being with him hurts me and being away from him hurts me. It hurts me to see how old and haggard he looks. The deep creases in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes don�t belong on a twenty-six-year-old man. A twenty-six year old man should not be carrying such cynicism and defeat.

It hurts me to see how angry he is, and how sad. I want to help him and I don�t know how. I also don�t want to put myself in harm�s way again. How to love someone and remain detached from that person is a mystery to me.

This morning I woke up and he was next to me, reading Spin and smoking a cigarette. His hands were shaking. He was ashing his cigarette casually on my china dish�the one displayed proudly on my dresser. I could feel myself growing furious as he stubbed out the butt on the hand painted orange plate with the pink and white hearts�a souvenir from Jenny and Seth�s wedding. His shoes were still on from the night before.

I couldn�t say anything.

He kissed me on the forehead. And he poured himself a glass of wine. His mouth crinkled into a grimace after the first sip.

Ech. Tastes like vinegar.

He shrugged his shoulders, resigned. And then he downed it like a shot of cheap bourbon.

It�s eight o� clock in the morning. Don�t you have to go to work?

Yeah. I just need a little help waking up.

Why don�t you try coffee? You think showing up to work drunk is a good idea?

I just have to do paperwork today. I don�t have to like restrain anyone or anything. I�m fine.

I rolled over and lit a cigarette.

I�m worried about you. I think you have a problem. I know you have a problem. And so do you.

Neither of us said anything for a minute.

Yeah, I know.

He left a little while later.

He�s dating a born again Christian who loves Britney Spears and working a job even more depressing than the Stupid Company.

It seems like he has lost all judgement, and I�m worried. I am so fucking worried. He does things like climb trees while he�s drunk. He does things like leaning way too far over fire escapes. He picks fights with the wrong people. Someday he�s not going to wake up after one of those nights. And there�s nothing I can do about it.

It�s very very hard to love someone who�s an addict.

It�s also probably pretty hard to love me.

Right now Eric and Brian are on the couch watching a Simpsons episode..

And I am in here thinking about him. I know they are thinking about him too. Eric said to me,

He doesn�t look good. And he�s so angry.

I nodded in a agreement. What else is there to say?

He just keeps getting worse and worse and I�m so afraid for him. I don�t know what to do.