He takes a few deep breaths, trying to get his brain refocused. "Okay... okay," he mutters, sliding his glasses off to rub at his eyes. "I'm...trying, Pete. I am." His voice is softer and sadder, still. But, there is some strength remaining that was teetering. "I'm just really fucked up, y'know? I wish for everything that this PTSD shit would just stop. Maybe I could wrap my head around this thing easier, but it creeps in. It latches on. I think for the sheer fact that you're sitting here with me is the only reason I haven't had a meltdown."