I'm sure you thought you were helping, telling me I was doing better than you and others could advise me to do. Basically telling me I was smarter than you were.
You weren't.
I had to muddle my way through. It's been hell. A hell that continues to this day. So far, the best advice I ever had was the one Claire gave me. "Fake it till you make it", she said. Only I'm not so sure I'm making it. The smiles are few, the joy and optimism barely existant. I muddle through. I don't live. I exist. The concepts are entirely different. And I help carry others on my shoulders. I'm killing myself doing that, but that's who I am. The wall. The hero. The one who stands tall.
The few moments of joy I have are from someone far away. From someone, for all I know, I don't really have a future with, who has her own stuff to deal with, whom at the same time I don't want to impose on.
Everything is far, far different from what I imagined when I was a boy.
I'm not happy. Not really. I look it, act it, talk it...but I'm not. It's something I put on so the people that love me don't figure out there's something terribly wrong.
But...it's easy to sit behind that desk, right? Couple sessions, boom, next customer.
Thanks for nothing. I'll handle it. I don't really have a choice.

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