When the Roof Leaks

The roof is leaking again.
Not just the literal one, but the one I build around myself to feel safe.
It’s been a chaotic day—too much to do, too much to feel, too much to carry.
And then the leak.
Right over the bed.
Of course.

There’s a cough in the next room.
A reminder of choices made, conditions endured.
It makes me sad.
Not just for her, but for all of it.
For the way things pile up and no one seems to notice until it’s too late.

I don’t want to talk about it.
Not because I’m ashamed, but because most people just want to soothe.
To patch the feeling, not the problem.
And sometimes, I just want to be upset.
To sit in the ache without being ushered out of it.

I didn’t see my life as having choices.
Maybe I missed them.
Maybe I was never taught how to recognize them.
Now I feel like I’m shutting down.
Like I don’t care anymore.
Like I’m reaching for something to numb the edges because I’m a grown-up and I can.

The walls feel close.
Too close.
I can’t live like this.
I can’t handle more.
I don’t want to explain it.
I don’t want to justify it.
I’m just… unhappy.
With everything.

There’s no clear way out.
So I wait.
For the alcohol to kick in.
For the numbness to soften the sharpness.
Just for a little while.