It’s my fault you ended up this way. It’s my fault that you see me as an emotional crutch and a personal therapist, it’s my fault that you dump all of your problems, real of fake, onto me every day while I can’t even consider asking you for advice. It’s my fault you expect me to be at your beck and call every hour of the day for as long as you’re awake, and it’s my fault that I feel resentful, angry, and, most of all, tired.

I know it’s my fault because I enabled your self-desctructive behavior way too many times.