I am haunted by the ghost of an Ivy League graduate, dead by suicide in his prime twenties for not being enough.
He floats about as a hungry ghost.
He makes fun of my IQ. And he shakes his head in disgust when I make frivolous expenses in a gross attempt to be classy.
He’s whispering in my ear the painful things his mother wordlessly told him through her tone and gesture: he tells me what he was expected to be but never fully became.
But I’m just trying to do my god damned homework.