I’m going to hell. I just know it. And honestly? Some days I think it’d be a relief. It’s 2 AM and I’m just sitting here, stewing. Today was… today was one of *those* days. You know the ones. The days where you feel like a particularly unappreciated prison guard. My parent, bless their cotton socks, decided today was the day to become a toddler again. Refused to take their pills. Just clamped their jaw shut. “Don’t want them,” they mumbled, like a defiant child. I tried reasoning. I tried gentle persuasion. I tried a little sternness. Nothing. Absolute, pig-headed, stubborn nothing. And I felt it. That hot, ugly wave of pure, unadulterated FURY. Just coursing through me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw their damn pills against the wall. I wanted to lock myself in my room and just… not deal with it. Not for one single second more. I ended up just putting the glass of water down, leaving the pills on the nightstand, and walking out of the room. I needed to breathe. I needed to not say something I’d immediately regret but would absolutely mean in the moment. How can someone be so… willfully obtuse? They *know* why they need these. We’ve had this conversation a thousand times. But no. Today, apparently, was a day for rebellion. And that’s the real confession, isn’t it? Not that I got frustrated. Any saint would get frustrated. It’s that I felt so *angry*. Like, truly incandescent with rage. At my own parent. Who is frail. Who needs me. Who, I keep reminding myself, can’t help it. But god, sometimes I think they absolutely *can* help it. Sometimes I think it’s just pure spite. A test. To see how much I’ll take before I snap. And I almost snapped today. I could feel it buzzing behind my eyes. I wanted to shout, “Just take the damn pills! Just cooperate! Just for ONE MINUTE!” I eventually went back in, took a deep breath, and just… held the glass up again. Didn’t say anything. Just held it there. And after another minute of that silent standoff, they finally, *finally* took them. Like they were doing me a massive favor. And I just said, “Thank you.” But inside, I was still boiling. Still seeing red. And now I’m here, scrolling through anonymous forums, wondering if I’m a monster. If it’s normal to feel such resentment, such… hatred, almost, for someone you’re supposed to love and cherish. I’ve given up so much for this. My life, my time, my sanity. And for what? So I can feel like a villain because I want someone to just DO WHAT THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO DO without a fight? It’s absurd. It’s darkly funny, actually. The cosmic joke is on me. Because tomorrow, it’ll be something else. Another battle. Another moment where I want to scream into the void. And I’ll still be here, won’t I? Still doing it. Still feeling this way. And still, probably, going to hell.