I used to sit in silence and receive the blows. I made all the right noises at the appropriate times, I was master of the sympathetic smile. Gradually I realised I was bent by many weights, many problems that were not mine. So I battened down the hatches and closed the gates, because a problem shared is a problem multiplied.
Time can be unkind the years will take their toll, the soul's precariously tethered to the bone. Many vicious elements combined to weather mine like a stone.
One day my sympathies lay down and died. Charity had murdered me, I hung my head and cried. My soul was like sponge, I wrung it dry. And I battened down the hatches and I shunned the world outside, because a problem shared is a problem multiplied.