Secret resentment toward family: You're Not the Only One

I think I might be a bad person. …

Anyone else look at their sleeping wife and just feel... …

I still have the internal timer set for 5 PM. …

I have been monitoring the physiological response to the sound of a jackhammer at 7:15 AM for three weeks now. …

It was a picture of domestic tranquility that felt so distant from my own reality that it triggered a total *emotional dysregulation*. …

I was eleven years old sitting at the kitchen table with a stack of legal notices that would make a paralegal sweat, and honestly? …

I woke up at 0500 because my internal clock doesn't care about honeymoon suites or the fact that I didn't get to bed until two. …

I’m sitting here on the back porch with a lukewarm beer, and for the first time in three years, I can’t hear the TV blaring some brain-rot anime from the guest room. …

You have the expensive pens. …

I spent thirteen hours yesterday performing what any objective observer would call a theatrical display of domestic martyrdom. …

I am sitting at Table 12. …

I have spent forty years wiping chins and changing linens and nodding like a goddamn saint while my husband forgets my name. …

It’s like humans are built with these weird little tripwires that we don’t even know are there until we trip over them. …

I’m sitting here in this drafty church and my cousin is up there crying his eyes out about his dad but all I can think about is the 405.

I’m sitting here in the dark with a glass of rye, still feeling the way that damn satin dress bit into my ribs like a cold wire. …

I have this persistent sense of somatic displacement whenever I’m around my family.

I still wake up at four in the morning to bake the same rolls my father made fifty years ago. …

It’s that suburban rot, I guess. …

The house is vibrating with that low-frequency hum of a refrigerator trying too hard. …

He’s been on my couch for eighteen months, just... …