The words out of my mouth every time I see my mother are, “I don’t know what to do.”
She says, “What do you want to do?” like it’s a matter of just picking the right activity.
No, mom. I’m saying I’m panicking. I’m quietly panicking, and dying, and I don’t know what to do about it. The world and my life are fucked. How can you sit by and tolerate this. You weak person.