But they still did, didn't they?
But that wasn't what you wanted.
You wanted the cool kids. You wanted in at the clubs where families had known each other forever, where the money and the people were quiet.
Lovely property, you thought. Surely they will let me into their group now.
But they didn't. Because you are still a tacky mobbed-up slumlord's son from Queens.
That you will spend your entire life with your nose pressed against the glass.
"You will be President," they whispered, "Think of the possibilities."
You would stop hearing that voice screaming in your head about how you're a loser.
You are existentially terrified.
Because you never got the approval from the people you wanted, and the ones you thought worked for you are peeling away and you have contempt for the ones screaming your name.
And they see a loser.