Patience

Hear me, lovers of forlorn flotsam fantasy.  I pronounce necessary items toward the transgression of self, herewithin sublimated to a higher purpose, remaining undefinable.

No talking about it.  Not even to other people who get it.  Not even to parents. Especially dead ones. Hold the pressure to speak in.  Speaking need not be the release, the promise of glory and communal allure, twisting as it might around smokey mystical edges that are just about the purest form of near clarity possible.  No. It need not solve problems.

Observe the delicate balance of bodily response toward nutrition.  Always dance into a situation uncommitted.  Do not fitfully devour.  Embrace your carnality in quiet restraint.  Come to grow hungry for discipline and want.  Understand your want by standing behind the first layer of desire and throwing pebbles at the window.  Show it who is running the show.

Consume plenty of written materials, making sure to shirk the need to impress upon others one's daily quota.

Come to terms with the need to please others by pushing yourself downward.  Refrain from abject compromise.  Do it politely, with as much steely eye contact as possible.

Come to terms with the temerity of hero-worship that you swallowed as a child.  Digest what it valuable and find a toilet for the rest.

Become obedient and proportional.  Don't complain.  Don't find complicated sophisticated reasons to complain.  Understand that no matter what level of intelligence you've been told you have, even while flagging behind others, you must work hard to maintain, not for them, and not for a reason.  Just because.  It is what we do.  We can call it patience if you'd like.