Over and over again the sorry excuses repeat, over and over again oblivion forces me to believe there is a chance. A chance that the patterns will cease, a chance that when the words I love you come out of that mouth that they are real and not just a guilt trip. I’m tired constantly. The feeling of exhaustion coming over me day by day. Trying, trying so hard to be the perfect one. The perfect daughter that can make everything right again. I put myself in this time continuum that never slows down. Repeat, repeat, like the fast pounding of my heart that won’t quit. Sometimes I wish it would. The pressures around me take control of my emotions. The symptoms are always the same– sweaty palms, head spinning, that feeling of your heart falling to your gut. Just when it gets better, just when the sensation fades and there is a light in the distance, it is darkened by the shade of my next “mistake” or their next life problem. Since when did the role of the teenager involve staying up at night wondering what else I  can do to help better their lives? When did it become about them living their dreams instead of me? When did I become the painter, and they become the canvas? What else can I do for them? I give and give, what happens when I have nothing left to supply? When my heart does give out. How are they going to remember me? As their child, as their pride and joy, or as their supplier?