Glass In The Intestines

I was talking to this guy the other day who was really a frustration machine. Brimming over with the stuff. It was toxic.
The vision he had for his life didn't match what his life was, so there was friction.
Even though his life contradicted his vision, the vision never changed. Apparently he felt it was his God given right, or it was in his DNA or he was permanently hallucinogenic.
This guy was terrible with tools. If he was told he had a heart attack on the way but it could easily be fixed with a hammer and a pipe wrench, he would be dead.
Home ownership magnified a contradictive nightmare.
No tool skills and no money to fix problems.
As his house aged, the problems multiplied and intensified.
As they did, each crisis brought on more severe reactions. Shortness of breath and tightly controlled internal hysteria.
He was under attack and unable to move or respond in any meaningful way.
These situations mocked him, threw a spotlight on the futility of his position in life.
Beyond a certain point you cannot keep a house standing with duct tape and bubblegum.
It doesn't work for a life either.
The vision he had for himself was one of a money maker. A guy who called up plumbers and electricians to ride to the rescue.
The lack of money turned those rescue missions into financial, life altering, disasters. Disasters that close down a life, cheapen it, rob it of options.
Like eating well.
And the rescue missions became physical and psychological nightmares, pure torture. Gut wrenching, glass in the intestine pain.
This guy had to endure the smirks and condescension of the talented tool wielders as they looked around at the duct tape and bubble gum. In fact it was often tough for them to get at the root of the problem because they had to duck under, step over, and brush aside the silver savior.
He said a lot of conversations from these overpaid tool junkies began with "All you gotta do is......." or "If you had only.........."
They would often show him what to do but it was painful and frustrating because they spoke a foreign language.
He always felt judged, he always felt inadequate.
And, toughest of all, he always felt these situations brightly illuminated the irony, the shortcomings, the severe stupidity of his life. Forced him to deal with the failure that was his life.
Nobody, not one person on the planet, could come close to understanding the truth of this pain, the severity of it, the breath stealing, heart racing, fist clenching intensity of it.
As he was talking to me he blew up.
Not blew up as in anger.
Literally blew to pieces in front of me. Not with gory splatter, more like a balloon.
I made a note to myself right then and there to evaluate my frustrations and look for solutions. To re-chart the course of my life.
Lately I have been feeling sharp, shattered glass in the intestine pain, with increasing regularity.