I feel like a TERRIBLE person even typing this out, even anonymously. It’s 2 AM and I can’t sleep because of it. My mom, she's in her late 80s now, and honestly, she's becoming... a LOT. I mean, she’s always been particular, my whole life, but now it’s like a performance review every time I talk to her. Did I pick up the right brand of tea? Did I load the dishwasher correctly? Why isn't her favorite show on right NOW? She asks the same question maybe five times in an hour sometimes and then gets MAD when I answer the same way. It's not her fault, I KNOW that, but it just drains me. Completely. I retired last year, finally. Thought I’d have time to, you know, actually LIVE for a bit. My kids are grown, out of the house, doing their own thing. I had plans – gardening, maybe taking that pottery class I always wanted to do. Instead, it’s like I’ve just… transitioned into a new job. An unpaid one. With worse hours. Every call is an emergency, every visit is a crisis. "I need you to fix this," she'll say, pointing at a perfectly fine curtain. Or, "Why haven't you done that thing yet?" when I haven't even had time to get my coat off. It’s relentless. I’m exhausted all the time, even when I haven’t done anything physical. Just the mental part of it. The thought — it popped into my head maybe a month ago, just a flicker, after one particularly BAD phone call where she accused me of not loving her because I couldn't drive her to the grocery store at 9 PM on a Tuesday. Assisted living. Just to LOOK at places. My friend Brenda, her mom went into one last year, and Brenda says it was the best thing for everyone. Her mom has friends there, activities, people checking on her. Brenda says her mom is actually HAPPIER now. I thought about it. The idea of maybe getting a few hours back in my day. Not having to field a hundred calls. Not having to feel like I'm constantly failing. But then the guilt just washes over me. Like a physical wave. She’s my mother. She raised me. What kind of daughter even thinks about putting her own mother in a "home"? The word itself feels like a betrayal. Like I’m abandoning her. I can just picture her face, the way she’d look if I even MENTIONED it. The disappointment. The sadness. It would crush her. It would crush ME. But I also feel like I’m drowning. Every day is just trying to keep my head above water. I just don't know what to do. I really don't.