I honestly don’t know what to do anymore, it feels like everything is just… crumbling, you know? Like I woke up this morning and my hands were just on FIRE, just a dull, aching throb that’s been there for weeks now but today it was just relentless, and I had to prep for dinner service, had a whole mise en place to get through, and every slice, every dice, every time I had to plate something delicate, it was like I was holding a live wire, just this electrical current of pain shooting up my arm and I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw something, I wanted to just walk out right there and then but I couldn't, because who else is going to do it? Who else is going to pay the bills? My father certainly can’t, not with how he is now, and my sisters—well, they’re just… gone, aren't they? Off living their lives, pretending like I don't exist, pretending like this whole mess isn't happening. And it just makes me so unbelievably angry, this slow descent into… I don't even know what to call it, but it’s a constant battle, a constant fight against this dull, insistent pain and the relentless demands of a job that used to be my lifeblood, my passion, but now it just feels like a cruel joke. I used to love the precision, the artistry of plating, making something beautiful out of simple ingredients, but now I’m just fumbling, my fingers stiff and unreliable, and I can see the frustration in the line cooks’ eyes sometimes, even if they don’t say anything, and it just makes me want to punch a wall. I'm 26 years old, for Christ's sake, I shouldn't feel like I'm already past my prime, like my body is betraying me before I've even really had a chance to get started. My career is supposed to be taking off, not… slowing down because my hands feel like they belong to an old man. I just feel so trapped, like there's no way out and every path just leads to more pain, more frustration, more of this simmering rage that I have to swallow down every single day. I look at my father sometimes, when he’s just staring blankly at the TV, and I wonder if this is what my life is going to be, just a slow, painful fading, watching everything I love slip away and being powerless to stop it. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because he’s my dad, and I love him, but sometimes I just want to disappear, just for a little while, just so I don't have to feel this overwhelming, suffocating weight anymore.