Some nights I stay up and realize that all I am and all I ever will be is a fuckup. No amounts of bupropion and aripiprazole will ever fix that. So I let my bad decisions and inactions haunt me. In ten years, everyone I know will be some combination of married and parents, and I’ll probably be dead in the back of my truck after a war with my bloodstream. Some nights it feels that time will come sooner than later, and there isn’t anything I can do to stop it. Some nights my chest feels ready to collapse and my brain barely functions anymore. I’m failing 3/4 courses this semester, my life is falling apart underneath me, everyone around me hates me, my chances of getting into college are getting slimmer due to my track record, and it’s looking more and more like I’ll be stuck in a dead-end job in a dead-end town for all of my life. What hope am I supposed to take hold of? The point is that very few people would care if I were dead, so it’s up to me to carry myself on. The problem is, I’m not sure how much longer I can do that for. The Wonder Years for your time.