sorry i didn’t drown prettier for you

i used to show up for people like it was my job.
no pay.
no boundaries.
just vibes and codependency.

i excused everything.
they’re busy.
they forgot.
they suck at texting.

whatever. i’d still show up. every time.

but now?
i’ve got a toddler clawing at my face
and a dog that thinks protecting us means threatening civilians.
my phone’s full of law school bullshit.
answering an email has to coordinate with a nap schedule—
i still don’t know where the fuck my actual mail key is.
my to-do list that looks like a cvs receipt.
i have not slept in months.
i’m holding it down solo with zero backup.

like.
no one.
nada.

and still—
i’ve asked.
not for a kidney. not for your soul.
just:
“can you come over— it’s my birthday…”
“can you watch her for an hour so i can pass this class and not spiral into academic ruin?”
“can you just show up like you allegedly care?”

and y’all—
y’all said no.
or sent an ironic-ass
“what are you doing today?” text
like i hadn’t already told you i was suffocating…

like i’m not openly holding it together
with caffeine,
screen time,
and sheer delusion.
and you said “after class?”
as if class wasn’t me silent-crying
through a cold call while a toddler headbutts my laptop.
you said “wish i could”
from TEN. MINUTES. AWAY.

and what’s truly insane?
i would’ve red-eye flown to y’all.
zero hesitation.
no sleep.
no excuses.
i would’ve broken speed limits and life plans
just to remind you you mattered.

and you couldn’t even cross a f*cking zip code.

so yeah—it's different now.

old me would’ve moved dumb-ass mountains for you—
held space, made time, lost sleep.
sent the texts. showed up. stayed late.
i did that. over and over. for years.

but new me?
new me can’t afford to chase people who clearly don’t give a fuck.
new me doesn’t have enough left to explain
why it hurts when people ghost you mid-breakdown.
new me is underwater.

and the thing is—
you’ll love me again once i’m easier.
once i’ve survived without you.
once i’m glowing and rested and unreachable.
you’ll resurface with some nostalgic bullshit.
you’ll pretend you forgot you watched me drown.

but i didn’t forget.

so no.
i’m not mad.
i just finally believe you.
you never had me like that.

so yeah.
i’m done.
blocked.
cut off.
emotionally evicted.

and if that hurts?

good.
because it fucking kills me.

and i’ll never understand why i didn’t matter.