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I'm good at my job

Here's the fucking deal, motherfuckers at work.

You could not handle my job. You weren't an abandoned teenager who made mistakes, figured shit out, and somehow never let the ball truly drop. You want to say you're a good public defender? I've been in rehab. I've been in therapy. I've fucked up so bad and felt so alone that it's a god damn miracle I wake up in the morning and deal with a bunch of shits who don't respect what I do.


Keep failing to respect that I'm one of the few people who can look at a teenager and face their anger and despair and relate to it. I'm not always going to be able to fix it, but I am going to be able to show them I'm on their side and there is still a visible part of me that is there with them.

So you go and gripe about visiting the jail and probation violations taking up half your time. I'll be over here doing what I'm meant to do. Every once in a while I'm going to save a life.

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