Okay so you know when you hit that age where it’s like suddenly EVERYTHING is happening and not in a good way but also you’re supposed to be super mature about it? Like I’m 31 and my parents are getting… fragile, you know? And then my kids are little and loud and wonderful but like, they NEED me to be the fun parent AND the responsible parent AND the one who remembers ALL the snacks and permission slips and it’s just… a lot. And I’m trying to be there for everyone and work my full-time job because someone’s gotta pay for all the tiny shoes and elderly-care things, and then I get home and it’s just another load of laundry and another dinner to make and another bedtime story to read and I’m just constantly failing someone, all the time, and I feel this almost physical weight of not quite getting it right for anyone and it’s exhausting. And I just don't even know what I feel anymore, like is this what they mean by emotional dysregulation or something? Because it’s just a constant hum of inadequacy. And it’s like, sometimes you just stare into the middle distance and think ‘what about ME though?’ You know? Like when do *I* get to do something that isn’t for someone else? And I remember when I used to play, like, in a band, you know? Not like, famous or anything but we played local gigs and I actually wrote songs, real ones, and I felt this… *spark* of something creative and it was MINE. And now I live in this tiny rural house with all these people who depend on me and I love them, I really do, but it’s like my brain just can’t access that part of myself anymore and I look at my old guitar gathering dust in the corner and it just feels like a monument to a past life or something and I literally don't even have the energy to pick it up. And I try, sometimes, to doodle or just hum something and it’s just… nothing. Empty. Like the creative part of my brain just shut down, totally, and I don't know if it’s just burnout or what. And then you feel guilty for even thinking that, because you’re surrounded by love and you have a roof over your head and healthy kids and everything you’re supposed to want, but then you’re still just… flat. And then the self-flagellation kicks in, like, you should be GRATEFUL, you ungrateful person, what is WRONG with you, why can’t you just be happy? And then you just sit there and it’s two in the morning and everyone else is asleep and you’re just trying to figure out what this feeling even IS and how to make it go away or at least understand it because it’s not sadness, not really, it’s just this… dull, aching… absence. And you wonder if you’ll ever get that spark back or if this is just who you are now, a perpetually tired person who keeps failing at everything. And it’s just. A lot.