you walk into my room as i’m trying to focus on work to tell me about something funny you saw or thought about. 
i try my best to stop shaking my leg, to stop stimming and mask so you feel heard– i try to be social with you.  i hate every second of this.  

‣it’s not.. your fault.‣  you are either too blind to the suffering or are masking it so deep that you come across as uncaring.

you tell me how mom berated you and keeps bashing on you for what you do, as well as for what you don’t. it’s a lose/lose and we are all playing this stupid game.

i wish i could help this situation. i wish i could change anything to help you.

but i write this text fully aware that i am bailing out in two weeks. 

i have no idea how to handle this.

...

i want to tell you.  and tell mom.
say how excited i am to have my own space, to have my own freedom, to be in control of my routines– a terrifying prospect– but in the end, this is incompatible.

it will never be compatible with you being our “caretaker”.  with you being “the one who put a roof over our head and provides food”. 

my head is spinning, i have to juggle the new job, escaping, staying mentally sane and keeping up my family façade all at once.
i feel like my head and my soul are going to explode.

the guilt is consuming me.
the anxiety is unbearable.
the pain and fear are constant.

i feel like this situation is poisoning me, hour by hour.

i feel frail and scared.

will this be worth it? will things work out?

...
i hope i can come out alive out of this.

– end of content –