There’s something funny about it.

How when I was the one suffering—breathing in gas, sweating through 85° nights, running on empty—I was told it wasn’t that bad. I was brushed off, minimized, made to feel like I was just being too sensitive.

But the moment the discomfort hits them?

Suddenly it’s urgent. Suddenly there’s a crisis. Suddenly the air conditioning must be fixed immediately.

And of course—because life loves to stay on brand—the repair guy bailed last minute. The cherry on top.

But here I am:

✨ Sitting in my 69° sanctuary.

✨ Cat by my side.

✨ Laughing at the absurdity.

Because that’s the thing about hitting rock bottom:

Eventually you stop begging for rescue and start building your own damn chill zone.

— Roxy