I feel like an absolute fraud, and it's eating at me more than I care to admit, I guess. It’s this whole thing with my parents, specifically about the rent for my apartment. I’m a graphic designer, freelance, which they sort of scoff at, even though it’s honestly doing pretty well. Better than pretty well, actually. I mean, my main clients pay really good money, and I’ve got this side hustle, designing really niche, kind of edgy t-shirts and posters online, and it’s… exploding. Like, more than enough to cover my rent, my utilities, my food, everything. I’m practically swimming in cash from it, sometimes, especially after a good month. But they still pay my rent. Every single month. And I let them. I let them send me that check, or Venmo me the money, like I’m still this struggling artist barely scraping by. It’s a complete lie. I just… can’t bring myself to tell them the truth. Part of it is their constant commentary, you know? Always asking if I’m “making enough,” if I’m “sure this is sustainable.” It’s like they need me to be dependent, maybe? Or maybe they just need to feel useful. I don’t know. I feel this red-hot anger sometimes when I think about it, at myself, mostly, for continuing the charade. It’s not like I need the money. I stash it in a separate account, sometimes I even use it to buy them gifts, which is just… so messed up, isn't it? It feels like some kind of weird, twisted penance. I guess it goes back to… everything, maybe. The discipline in the military, the constant need to follow orders, even when they made no sense. This whole situation feels like an order I’m following, some unspoken command to remain small and needy in their eyes. It’s infuriating, but I just… keep doing it. I keep taking their money, keep nodding along when they express their “concerns” about my finances. It’s not even about the money anymore, really. It’s about the lie. The feeling that I’m not really living my own life, not fully, because I’m still performing this role for them. And I don’t know how to stop without, like, blowing everything up. It’s exhausting, honestly. I just want to scream sometimes.