“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” “You’re not. I just…miss my mom. I miss her more around this time of year. She loved Christmas and the snow, and I wish she could be here with us. And I wish I wasn’t so helpless and needy and that I had things I could give you too. I want to give you a happy Christmas, and I don’t even know if you celebrate. And I want to be useful to you so I’m not just a man who interrupted your life. I don’t have anything to give you except my ass. Sometimes my mental illness makes these feelings of worthlessness and sadness feel so much bigger, like they’re breaking me
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