I have tears. I fear this more than I realized before.<p>I think I just need to say a few things. So they exist somewhere, because of that fear, anger and sadness brought to me by this story.<p>I remember the day I woke up, and by that, I mean the difference between being that kid, experiencing, and who I am today.<p>It happened for me in 2nd grade. End of year, and I realized I could no longer choose to read, it just happened. And I was angry, and excited at the same time.<p>Was never the same.<p>That year was the beginning of me, and while I remember a lot from my very early years, those memories aren't like the ones I have later on.<p>I would fear going to sleep. Would I be the same again, or someone new, or would I forget those realizations I had at the end of that second school year?<p>The idea of "me" being a fragile state, a pattern that tends to endure, provoked a sense of guardianship. I am in charge of me, nobody else.<p>That caused me considerable grief growing up. Others, wanting to help, were dofficult to let in. How can I tell that, the human teasing out of who we are becoming, from manipulation rooted in self-serving, toxic ends, not mine, me?<p>Took years to resolve, and with it came a joy in knowing me, seeing me happen, grow. And others. People of all kinds. It is fun to meet them, see who they are.<p>That should explain the fear. I am very aware of me, that identity I felt congeal into a thing made aware, to grasp, and guard lest it fase, shift, be lost.<p>To have it just degrade, fade away despite ehat I know must be a painful struggle...<p>We need to do the work on this thing. It could be any of us, and ours facing this quiet horror.<p>Jo is a lucky person. He has someone who knows his story, who can take him back, connect.