I am sitting here at 2:13 AM and my hands are shaking while I type this because I’m just so damn tired of everything. It started because of a stupid commercial. Not even a sad one. Just a laundry soap commercial with a mom folding towels in a sunlit room. God I hate towels. I’m 52 years old and I still get this knot in my throat when I see stuff like that and it’s pathetic. I shouldn't even be posting this because someone is gonna see it and tell me to get over it or that I'm being dramatic. I'm not. I’m just... I'm done. It takes me right back to 1988. I was 16. Just a kid but I was already doing the heavy lifting because Mom was always "resting" her head with the curtains shut. I was in the den, folding four baskets of clothes. Four. I counted them back then because I wanted to see how much work I was actually doing for free. And this commercial comes on—Tide or Cheer or whatever—and it’s this soft music and a clean house and everything is just so freaking PERFECT. It wasn't real but I wanted it to be. I started bawling my eyes out over a box of soap. Just hunched over a pile of my brother Dave's crusty gym socks, shaking and gasping for air. And of course they were right there. Dave and Mike. 18 and 19. They were on the plaid sofa eating Doritos—I can still smell the fake cheese breath. They didn't ask if I was okay. They didn't offer to help with the towels or the dinner I still had to cook. No. They just pointed and laughed until they were red in the face. "Look at the baby," Mike said. He threw a chip at me. They called me a drama queen and made these loud blubbering noises while I’m literally drowning in their dirty laundry. I felt so small. So stupid. Like my whole life was just some joke for them to watch while they waited for me to finish their chores. Now it’s thirty-five years later and nothing has changed. Not one thing. I’m still the one folding the damn towels. Only now it’s for my dad who can’t remember my name half the time and my son who’s 24 and still lives in the basement playing video games. I spent six hours today at the doctors, then the grocery store, then scrubbing the bathroom floor because Dad missed the toilet again. And Dave? Dave calls from Florida once a month to ask if I’ve "handled" the taxes yet. He still thinks it’s all easy. He still thinks I’m just the help. He probably still thinks I'm a joke. I am so TIRED of being the only one who cares. It hurts my chest. I saw that stupid commercial again tonight on my phone and I wanted to throw the damn thing through the window. Why am I the only one who feels the weight of every single thing in this house? I have been the "strong" one since I was ten years old and I’m about to break into a million pieces. If one more person asks me where their clean socks are I swear to God I’m going to scream until my lungs pop. I’m sitting here in the dark eating cold pasta out of the pot because I didn't even have time to sit down today. I’m probably making a fool of myself. Forget it. I should just delete this but I won't because I need someone to know. I’m 52 and I’m still that girl on the floor crying over laundry while everyone else laughs. They don't see the work. They never see the work. They just see the "drama" and wait for their dinner. I have to get up at 6 to change Dad's sheets. I hate this. I just hate it all so much tonight and I don't know why I can't stop crying.