I can’t do this anymore
Somewhere in the last 40 years I lost the point. I want to give up every day on this thing called life. As Bilbo Baggins said so perfectly in The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I am angry that I am not allowed to have a bad day, or even a meh day. Somehow I am responsible for the mood of the rest of my family. It ends up being my fault if everyone else has a bad day. I am tired. I’ve been told numerous times to go on medication. And equally as many times to not go on medication, just find ways to be happier. I am supposed to overlook when others do things halfway, but I am on the receiving end of endless grief if I don’t do things perfectly. I am encouraged to do the things that make me happy. I am put through guilt trip after guilt trip for not spending more quality time doing what my family wants to do. I am responsible for planning and prepping every meal, including breakfasts, snacks, ...