You’re walking home, half drunk, reflecting on the perfectly harmless and probably charming things you said to people who genuinely enjoy your company, and still feel like you annoyed everyone around you.  

I remember something I’ve known and felt but haven’t quite confronted: The only reason I’m still here is because I don’t want Mom and Dad to have to bury their own kid.  

It’s enough to make you stop, like you hit a dead end in life.  What do I do now?