Sometimes you just sit in the fucking dark. You know that feeling when you're just… done. Utterly, completely done with the day, with the week, with the whole goddamn year. I'm out in the garage right now, engine off, keys still in the ignition, and it's just… black. Like a void. And it feels good. Because I can't go in. I can't. She's in there, probably watching some shitty reality show she doesn't even remember the plot of, and I know she needs me. I know she needs help getting to bed, needs her meds, needs… everything. But I just can't move. My hands are still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, and I can feel the exhaustion in my bones, like a physical ache that’s been there for years now. You remember when life was just… yours? When you could come home from a long day at work, kick off your shoes, maybe grab a beer, and just exist. Now it's a second shift, a never-ending performance. And I hate myself for thinking that, for feeling this way about my own wife. The woman I promised to love, in sickness and in health, and here I am, practically weeping in the dark because I can’t face another night of it. Another night of pretending like everything is okay, like I’m not losing my mind, like I’m not constantly just one wrong move away from snapping. Like I haven't watched her fade away, bit by bit, until the person I married is just… gone. And I’m left with the ghost of her, and the shell of what our life used to be. My job is demanding, you know? I’m supposed to be building a career, making a name for myself, but every day feels like I’m barely treading water. My boss is on my ass about project deadlines, my phone is constantly buzzing with work emails, and then I come home to this. It’s like I’m constantly disappointing everyone – my wife, my colleagues, myself. And it's not like there’s anyone else. Her sisters call once a month, ask how she’s doing, then go back to their perfect lives. My own family just… stopped asking. It’s just me. ALWAYS me. And I’m so tired of being the strong one, the patient one, the one who holds it all together. I just want to scream, or break something. Or just stay here, in the dark, forever. Because the thought of going inside, turning on the lights, and facing another night… it’s just TOO FUCKING MUCH.