AND you ask me if there's something you can do to help me pack but it's a fucking trap.
Because what you really mean is if there's something you can do to help that YOU think is WORTH doing. You don't give a shit about what I think or the things I care about. You think those things are stupid.
I have tentatively given you a couple options.
They are apparently too stupid to even consider. Why would I ever want help hanging pictures? Why would I want to paint? Everything I tell you is ridiculous so why would you think I would tell you anything else? Why would I trust you to help me go through my things when I know you will just look at it with condescension and contempt? Because I am a burden to you, and all of my things represent that for you.
Why do you think I avoid you when I'm home? Because I'm lazy? Or because it's too difficult to talk to you or hear your gigantic exasperated and exhausted sighs whenever I pass by your office. Because you look at me with contempt. You don't have to say anything for me to know how you really feel. I know what you think of me it's written all over your face.
I hate this. I hate feeling this way but what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make it better? It seems pretty hopeless.
I peeled so much skin off my feet tonight. That's going to hurt tomorrow.