Nothing says "personal growth" quite like transforming your vague existential dread into precisely located compile-time errors. Before programming, your self-loathing was abstract and philosophical. Now? It's error: line 247 specific.
The beautiful irony here is that learning C++ doesn't solve your problems—it just gives them better documentation. Your depression now comes with stack traces. Your anxiety has a memory address. Progress!
At least when the compiler yells at you for forgetting a semicolon, you know exactly which line to blame. Unlike real life, where you're still trying to figure out which childhood memory caused all this.
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