No one is going to help you when you are by your self in that place where all desperation is unleashed and the path to nowhere alone lies before you.
When I searched above my eyes, when they are closed, I see a silver ceiling, like the cloud that hovers a few feet overhead in a room full of smokers. Above this there is shiny black ice. Some primitive voice calling to the stem of my mind is telling me that this is a basalt layer of time signifying a cataclysmic transition not far in the future.
A boy who should have by now been a man is peter-panning through his opportunities and life-lines. His cornucopia of good-intentioned loved ones eager to help him through the toughest times in a life that has been anything but tough only serve as kindling for the flames of self-destruction that poison his self-fulfilling prophesy and have shown him the devil that lives in effort. He will bring them down with him over the next decade, or burn his bridge trying and by that time, no one will have heart left to try.
We all see the black ice and then tell each other that it is not visible. We look the other way, we don’t look at all, we blind ourselves, no matter what. When the truth does come and there is no way of looking beyond it, we will scramble for our savior in any vestige of truth and power that we can find. But we will have exhausted our grandchildren’s worthiness by then.