If I hustle up the stairs, that startles the ol woman…

but she calls be down the stairs, either with an open door, or closed door an in urgent matter…because I didn’t answer my desk phone.

The level of dependency, the level of social norms, the level of lacking appropriate, gentle and not life or death urgency in the undertones.

The idea my mother can issue rules for the house but yet she never enforces it, the idea that I wished we can communicate more gently, with more consent and this 24×7 environment for 4 straight years…

I feel like a fucking bastard child. Sometimes I wished I didn’t exist so I am not worth anything anymore.