Sometimes I feel like telling people “the reason why you can’t sleep and can’t eat and feel like your heart is going to explode is because you’ve totally bought in to the American Dream bullshit, and it’s slowly but surely killing you.”

There ain’t no pill I can write for that is going to fix your problems. Prozac and Ativan ain’t gonna cure you. You’re gonna have to quit your job/drop some classes/take a damn break and find a job that isn’t killing you or find a major/career that isn’t going to drive you to drink and to drugs and an early grave long before your time.

But I don’t say any of this, because I don’t have thousands of dollars I can lend them to help them pay their mortgage at the end of the month or pay for the enormous debt they’ve already taken out for their education or tide them over until they can find a new job, a new career, a new life. All I can really do is just punt to the psychiatrist.