You people pleased your way into a life that has no room for you.
You said yes so many times that your own name isn't on anything in your schedule. Every hour belongs to someone else.
You looked at your calendar this morning.
Every block belongs to someone else.
A favor here. A commitment there. A promise you made because saying no felt cruel.
There are forty two hours claimed. None of them are yours.
You designed a schedule for a person who doesn't exist in it.
You became the support character in everyone else's story.
The reliable one. The available one. The one who always shows up.
They love that version. It costs you nothing they can see.
But it costs you everything you can feel.
You haven't painted in two years. You used to love it.
You haven't read a book in six months. You used to finish one a week.
You haven't sat in silence since you can't remember when.
Because every silence gets filled by someone else's request.
You vanished from your own life so gradually that nobody noticed.
Including you.
You're not generous. You're afraid.
Afraid that if you stop giving, you stop mattering.
That equation was written by someone who only valued what you provided.
It was never true.
You matter without the favors. You exist without the utility. Your worth is not a service you provide.