the other day, i told my brother about the softly destructive voice in my mind.
he was lovely and supportive and entirely clueless.
that, of course, wasn't his fault --
-- he handled the situation as best as he could, knowing as little as he does about the things that haunt me.
he tried his very best
he couldn't help me.
advice isn't easy,
help isn't easy.
i have to help myself sometimes.