There is a point a person can reach when his whole world collapses.  You hear
about such things, when all that's left is to pick up the pieces.
What you don't hear about, and maybe you have to live it to understand, is
after the crash and before looking at the pieces.
Initially, there is the self-destructive sensation that no matter what happens
your life can't get worse.  This sensation frees you from all responsibility
because consequenses become inconsequential.
Wrecked my car, so what?  Jail, can't be worse than this.
During this phase it is very important to do nothing (so I am told).  All your
reactions to any situation are driven by emotion and are often covered in
vengeance against that which crashed your world.
It's not easy.  You look for the stability in your life, and you realize its
in fragments somewhere in the pile of shattered glass that is your life.
You are suffocated when you try to suppress your feelings, and burst into
tears when you try to express them.
I want to pick up my pieces.
No, I don't care about the pieces.
What the fuck are the pieces?
People who know me think I am stoic, an emotional rock.  Today they look at my
red eyes, the reddened watery cheeks and suddenly they are avoiding me like
the plague.
I need to pick up the pieces, but what emotions must be encountered before
that can happen?  I don't know.