You’ve always been the “therapist friend,” the one who sits through everyone else’s problems like you don’t have your own. Slowly, you start to notice you’re not really part of the group anymore—just someone they talk around, not with. You carry the same hidden depression and anger as your brother, numbing it in quiet, unhealthy ways no one bothers to question because you’ve gotten too good at pretending. But even when everything starts falling apart, no one comes back for you, and you’re left sitting in the silence you’ve been slowly pushed into.