Keping the Number From Swallowing the Week
The day started with the usual rhythm—some cleaning, trying to stay productive—but there was a heavier weight sitting underneath it all. Bills don't pause just because your account is already in the negative, and that pressure has a way of humming in the background no matter what you're doing.
To keep things from getting worse, I had Kayla send her rent money directly to my mom instead of through me. It wasn't ideal, but it was necessary. When your balance is already underwater, even doing the right thing can feel like damage control instead of progress. Sometimes survival looks less like winning and more like preventing the next hit.
A Sleepover and a Shift in the Night
Later in the evening, I picked up Eve and her youngest daughter for a sleepover. The house settled once the girls were asleep, and for a moment, things felt manageable again.
We decided to step out and go to garage karaoke at a friend's house—a familiar place, familiar faces, something that usually feels light and fun. But not everything stays light when unresolved tensions are already sitting close to the surface.
When Words Hit the Wrong Nerve
At some point, The Sister confronted me again—this time accusing me of enabling Eve in ways that felt unfair and misplaced. What made it harder was the irony of it all. If anyone contributes more to those habits, it isn't me. I've spent more time trying to slow things down, not speed them up.
Still, being blamed—especially when you're actively trying to do better—has a way of breaking through your restraint. It hit something raw. Instead of staying grounded, I checked out emotionally and stopped trying to be the steady one. That choice didn't come from carelessness—it came from exhaustion and frustration, from feeling like no matter what I do, it's wrong in someone else's eyes.
The Cost of Letting Go
By the time we made it back home, the night had lost its footing. Eve stumbled, and the moment itself felt fragile, disjointed. We tried to be close, but it wasn't really there—not in the way that feels connected or safe. Some nights just unravel, and you're left realizing that letting go doesn't always bring relief. Sometimes it just leaves more mess behind.
Sitting With the Aftermath
This wasn't one of my better nights. I know that. I also know it didn't come out of nowhere. Stress compounds. Pressure builds. And when you're constantly trying to be the responsible one, the patient one, the limiter—the moment you stop, everything feels louder.
What stuck with me wasn't the night itself, but the reminder that even when I'm trying to protect someone, I also have to protect myself. Otherwise, the weight shifts—and something eventually gives