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There's a fine line between being old enough to understand and being old enough to have the ability to give a fuck. Settle your own god-damn problems and leave me alone because what the fuck do you expect from a twenty year old who has her own fucking pile of life challenges to deal with.

No, I'm not okay, okay?

As much as I try to hold it in, I'm very not okay. I have two grown-ups bickering like children at home all day and gambling with my faith. I have two sisters of tender age to protect and hold my tears back for when I retreat back to the only place I can hide myself from everything else — under the blanket. I have a grandmother whom my heart aches so much for but for whom I can't do much (do you know what it feels like to be so useless?). I have a very blissful home, but a screwed up family of feuds and animosity. I have so many things I wish I could avert my attention to, like making sure I spend every single last moment here wisely with as many people as I can. I also have less than two months to solve all these puzzle pieces and pull myself together, but the only thing I do not have is enough time. How could I possibly bear to leave then?

So no, I'm not okay. No, I don't want to talk about it, and no, you cannot do anything about it or give me any useful advice. But yes, you can simply let me be and understand that when I say I can't hang, what I really mean is that I have shit to deal with where I am needed. And you can make me feel better by pretending you don't know anything about it and maybe not placing any unnecessary pressure of any form on me by asking me to think. I don't have the strength to think.