We believe we are sorted.
Hence we play agony aunts and shrinks each day of our lives. Smug aunts and shrinks who scold condescendingly and judge. We even laugh sometimes, other times we feel bitter about the mess that they are in. And that's because our lives are sorted.

Except that we are not. Sorted, I mean. We go back home to our own mess. We carry a fear at the back of our mind, of becoming like the ones we laugh at. The ones who fall apart, except that there are bits of us too, scattered everywhere. There are pieces that are falling, some we have already lost/left behind. We are them too, except that we don't see it.