Does anyone else feel like they’re literally disappearing? Like, physically fading out? I’m serious. Am I the only one who feels like they’re living inside a costume? I’m 31 years old and I feel like I’ve been wearing a lead suit for six years. I’m sitting here at 2 AM after another one of these charity dinners—another one, every single weekend, another one—and I’m looking at Elias sleeping. He’s the "Pillar of the Community," right? Everyone says it. He’s a leader. He’s a "good man." And I’m just... I’m the woman behind him, holding the baby, checking on his mother’s insulin, making sure the napkins are folded into little perfect goddamn triangles. I’m doing it every day. Every. Single. Day. I’m sitting at these stupid fundraisers, listening to the mayor talk about "values" and "tradition," and I just want to stand up and scream that it’s all bullshit. Total bullshit. But I just smile. I smile until my face hurts. Does anyone else do that? Just... perform? I feel this weird... I guess it’s like a somatic symptom. My chest gets tight. It’s like a physical manifestation of the fact that I don’t believe a word of it. I stopped believing in all this traditional stuff when I was twenty, but I buried it. I buried it deep so I could be the wife he needed, and now I’m just... I’m kind of losing my mind, I think. My whole life is just... logistics for other people. I spend eight hours a day managing his parents' medical care and another six on our son. I’m a caregiver. That’s my whole identity. I’m a glorified administrator for three generations of people who don't even know what I’m actually thinking. I’m the one who remembers the medications. I’m the one who remembers the birthdays. Me. Every time. It’s a constant, low-level cognitive dissonance because I’m acting like this traditional domestic goddess when inside I’m... I don't even know. I’m angry? Maybe I’m just empty. I’m sort of wondering if I even exist when no one is looking at me. Tonight was the absolute worst. This lady, Mrs. Gable—she’s like eighty and smells like mothballs and judgment—leaned over at the table and told me how "blessed" I am to serve such a great man. Serve. She actually used that word. I felt this spike of... I don't know, it felt like an acute stress response. I almost laughed in her face. I wanted to tell her that the "great man" doesn't even know where the vacuum is kept or that I haven't slept more than four hours at a stretch since 2021. But I didn't. I just nodded. I’m a world-class nodder. I just kept nodding until I felt like my head was going to fall off. I’ve been reading about social masking. I think that’s what this is. I’m masking every single second of every single day. It’s exhausting. It’s more than exhausting, it’s like... soul-erasing. I’m 31 and I don’t have a single person I can say the truth to. If I told Elias I think our community’s stance on—well, everything—is backwards and regressive, it would ruin him. It would ruin his "reputation." He’s a leader, so I have to be the perfect follower. So I keep it in. I stay quiet. I keep the house clean and I keep my mouth shut. Every day. Every day. Is it normal to feel like a ghost in your own house? I walk through the rooms and I see the things I chose—the beige curtains, the family portraits—and I don't recognize them. They aren't mine. They’re for the "leader’s wife." They’re for the image. I’m just some... I guess I’m an auxiliary unit. I’m an attachment to his life. I look at my son and I feel this terrifying guilt because I’m raising him in this lie, too. Am I the only one who feels like they’re mourning a version of themselves that never even got to exist? Maybe she died a long time ago. I’m typing this on my phone in the bathroom because I can’t sleep. I’m staring at the marble countertop and thinking about how much it cost and how little it matters. I’m so fucking tired. Tired of being "the light of the home." Tired of the "quiet strength" bullshit everyone loves to talk about. Every time someone praises me for being "supportive," I want to throw something. I want to smash every single one of these porcelain plates we got for our wedding. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. Does that make me crazy? Am I having some kind of dissociative break? I’m serious, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a bad person. Maybe I’m just ungrateful. That’s what they’d say, right? "She has everything." I have a house, a "good" husband, a healthy kid. I have everything. But I feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of it all. I’m just... I’m looking for something that makes sense. Does anyone else feel this? This total, absolute hollow feeling right in the center of their chest while they’re smiling at a fundraiser? Please tell me I’m not the only one. I can't be the only one who feels like they’re dying in plain sight... I just can't be.