I swear to god I’m going insane. Like, actually losing my mind. You know how people joke about parents being stressed? No, this is beyond that. This is like, I haven't seen a full night's sleep in… I don’t even remember. A year? Two? It all just blurs together now. My life is basically a constant loop of making sure everyone else is okay, and then trying to figure out if I still exist somewhere in all that. It’s my grandpa, mostly. And my grandma. They live with us, and look, I love them. I really do. But it’s been… a lot. My grandpa, he used to be this amazing carpenter. Built half the furniture in our house, seriously. Now he just… builds birdhouses. And not like, a couple for fun. He’s in his workshop for twelve hours a day. TWELVE. From like, seven in the morning until seven at night. And it’s not even for money or anything, he just… does it. All day. The thing is, he’s doing it to avoid my grandma. That’s the messed-up part. My grandma, she’s… quiet now. Used to be so bubbly and loud, always talking and laughing. Now she just sits in the kitchen. All day. Staring out the window, or at her hands, or at nothing. And the house is just… quiet. A different kind of quiet than before. It’s heavy. It’s like the air gets thick with it. You can almost feel the sadness. And my grandpa can’t stand it. He hates the quiet. He hates seeing her like that. So he just… escapes to the workshop. He just builds. And builds. And builds. And I get it, I do. It’s his way of coping. But then that leaves ME. Me, the one who’s supposed to be going to college, figuring out my life, having fun. Nope. I’m the one who sits with my grandma. I’m the one who tries to make conversation when she just stares. I’m the one who makes sure she eats, that she takes her pills, that she’s not just… fading away. It started gradually, you know? Like, Mom would ask me to "just keep an eye on her" while she ran errands. Then it was "can you stay with her while I go to work?" And now? Now it’s just expected. Like, my schedule revolves around her schedule. If I want to hang out with friends, I have to find someone to cover me. Which, spoiler alert, is usually nobody. My mom works, my dad works, my siblings are off doing their own thing, oblivious. And I’m stuck here, watching my grandma watch dust motes float in the sunlight. The worst part is the guilt. Because sometimes I just want to SCREAM. I want to run out of the house and never come back. I want to slam a door. I want to just sit in silence by myself and not have to be the cheerful, helpful, understanding one. But then I look at her, and she looks so small, so lost, and I feel like a monster. How can I be angry at someone who’s sick? How can I be mad at my grandpa for trying to protect himself? But it’s killing me. Seriously. I dropped two classes this semester because I couldn't keep up. I’m barely passing the others. My friends call less and less because I’m always busy, or I’m too tired, or I just don’t have the energy to pretend everything’s fine. I just want to curl up in a ball and cry, but I can’t. Someone needs to be strong. Someone needs to be here. And it's always me. Just me. Sitting in that quiet kitchen, listening to the faint hum of my grandpa’s saw in the distance, wishing I could disappear into a pile of sawdust with him. Or just… anywhere else. I don't know what I'm going to do. I just don't. This isn't my life. This isn't what I signed up for. But here I am. And the birdhouses just keep piling up.