I know this isn't a huge deal but I just... I’m so angry. Like, really, truly angry and I have nowhere to put it, so here I am at 2 AM tapping away on my phone because I can’t sleep, obviously. It started today, or maybe it’s just been building up for weeks, but today was the day it finally broke, I guess. I was trying to make my mom breakfast, which is a whole thing now, because she has to have the oatmeal exactly right, not too thick, not too thin, and God forbid there are any lumps. And I’m standing there stirring, really just staring into this bowl of oatmeal like it holds the secrets to the universe, and she comes into the kitchen, already dressed, which is a miracle in itself these days. And she says, "Oh, I forgot to tell you, your brother called." Just like that, completely oblivious to the fact that *I* haven't heard from him in six months, not since I told him he needed to actually contribute something, anything, to her care. And I’m stirring, and I ask, "Oh really? What did he want?" And she just shrugs, like it's completely unimportant. "Oh, nothing much, just wanted to know how I was doing. Said he was busy with work." Busy with work. He always says he's busy with work. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to balance my own work, which thank God is remote right now, with doctor's appointments, and making sure she actually eats, and remembers to take her pills, and doesn't wander off when I'm in the shower. I just kept stirring that stupid oatmeal, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to take the spoon and just hurl it across the kitchen. He calls her, not me. He doesn't ask how *I'm* doing, if *I* need anything, if I’ve slept more than four hours in a row this week. He calls her because it’s easy, because she won’t say anything about him being absent, because she doesn’t remember half the time anyway. And I’m the one picking up the pieces, watching her slowly… fade. I’m the one who gets the calls from her doctor, the one who has to explain to her again that no, her husband isn’t coming home, he’s been gone for ten years. It’s relentless. And the thing is, she looks at me sometimes, when she has a moment of clarity, and she’ll say something like, "You’re doing so well, honey. Your father would be so proud." And it’s like a punch to the gut because I just want to shout, "Proud of what, Mom? Proud of me putting my entire life on hold? Proud of me losing my twenties to this? Proud of me watching you forget who I am half the time?" But I just smile and tell her, "Thanks, Mom," and then go back to whatever I was doing, trying to hold back the tears. It's so stupid, I know. It's my mother. She needs me. And I love her, of course I do. But this… this isn't what I signed up for. I mean, I had plans, you know? I was going to move to New York, or maybe even London. I had interviews lined up, real opportunities. And then she fell, and the diagnosis came, and suddenly everything just… stopped. My sister lives three states away and says she's "too busy with her kids." My brother, well, you heard about my brother. He's always "busy." So it's just me. And I resent them, obviously. I resent them for getting to live their lives while mine is just… paused indefinitely. It’s like I’m watching a movie of my own life from the outside, and it's not even a good movie. It’s just this long, drawn-out drama with no intermission. Today, after the oatmeal incident, I was supposed to have a video call with my team. It’s important stuff, a big project, and I just… couldn’t. I closed my laptop. I just sat there, staring at the screen saver, this stupid picture of a beach that I’ll probably never see again. And I felt this cold, hard knot of anger in my chest, a physical thing. It wasn't just directed at my brother, or my sister, or even my mom. It was at the whole situation, at the unfairness of it all. At the fact that I’m supposed to just accept this, to be a good daughter, and not complain. But I’m so tired of not complaining. I’m tired of being the strong one, the responsible one. I want to be irresponsible sometimes. I want to just leave. Get in my car and drive until I don't know where I am. But I can't. Because then who would make the oatmeal? Who would remind her to take her pills? Who would be there when she gets confused and scared? No one, that's who. And that’s the part that really infuriates me. That there’s no one else. I just feel like I'm disappearing, you know? Like I'm just this appendage to her now, just the person who takes care of things. All the things that made me *me* are just slowly fading away. My hobbies, my friends, my future. They're all just… gone. And I don’t even know how to get them back, or if I even can. This is stupid. I should try to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I just see that stupid bowl of oatmeal, and hear her saying, "Oh, your brother called." And the anger just flares up all over again.