I used to be a person before they were people clinging to me always always needing something even when they sleep they need me. now i'm just this shell this hollowed out echo of a woman who painted and dreamed and laughed easily and now i just make sure everyone else is breathing. I try to grab a minute here or there, the therapy helps some days, but most days I'm just running to stand still running so i dont fall down. Chris doesn't get it he says i need a hobby but i look at him and wonder if he even SEES me. if he sees the weight i carry. sometimes i think he thinks it just magically appears like the piles of laundry that i somehow keep doing and it just keeps coming. it's not enough it's never fucking enough.