You ever just get to a point where the noise… it just kinda fills up your head till there’s no room for anything else? Like, it’s not even *bad* noise, just… too much. And you’re in the middle of it, like, right in the eye of the storm, but you’re supposed to be the one holding the umbrella, right? Supposed to be the one making sure everyone else is dry, even when you’re already soaked through. Yeah. That kinda feeling. Like you’re failing at the one thing everyone expects you to be good at, the thing that’s supposed to be natural. It was my kid’s birthday, number five for the littlest. So like, balloons everywhere, the ones that pop if you breathe on ‘em wrong. Cake smell, sweet and kinda sickly after a while. And music, just like, cartoon songs really loud, bouncing off the walls. Three kids, right? Plus their friends, so it’s like ten little tornado’s running through the living room, screaming about presents and some game with plastic rings. And my wife, she’s amazing, but she was in the kitchen, trying to get all the snacks out, yelling over the noise about the juice boxes. And I’m there, trying to wrestle the wrapping paper off the vacuum cleaner box they got for the oldest (who definitely did *not* ask for that). Just a million things happening at once. And then the littlest one starts crying cause someone took her balloon. And I hear it, but it’s like… the sound goes right through me instead of stopping. Like I can’t even grab onto it. And suddenly, my eyes just felt like they were burning. Not even sad, just like… hot. Like someone was pushing down on my chest. I just kinda mumbled something to my wife, I dunno what, probably sounded like "be right back" or something lame. And I walked away, just straight for the bathroom, the one with the broken lock that always sticks. And I just leaned against the door, holding it shut. And then it just… came out. Not even a sob, really. Just like, a huge, silent gulp, and then my throat felt like it was gonna burst open. And the tears, they just started rolling. Like hot water. Not a sound, though. I just pressed my face into the towel hanging on the back of the door, trying to breathe like a normal person. Cause what kind of a dad can’t handle a kid’s birthday party? What kind of a man just… breaks down over balloons and juice boxes? It just feels so… weak. Like a screw came loose or something, and I can’t put it back in. And I could still hear it, you know? The party. All those little voices, so happy. And it just made me feel worse. Like I was letting them down, even though they didn’t even know I was gone. Just standing there, wishing I could be strong enough to just… laugh along. Wishing I wasn't like this. Sometimes it just feels like the world is too heavy for your shoulders, and you’re supposed to pretend it’s not, right? You’re supposed to just carry it. I waited until I heard my wife call out, asking where I was. And I splashed water on my face, took a deep breath that felt like it scraped my insides. And I went back out there. Like nothing happened. But the inside of my head still feels kinda sticky, like something broke and I just tried to glue it back with spit. And now it’s 2am and I’m just staring at the ceiling, thinking about it. And thinking about the next birthday. Or the next time the toaster breaks. Or the car makes that weird noise again. It just feels like there's always something. Always.