Will is losing himself; he is scared. For the first time in his life, he feels as if he can't pick up the pieces that he unintentionally abandons like crumbs to a cracker. He is leaving a trail of lost personalities in his wake, and they lead to a disfunctional, useless being that no one understands.
He guesses that is why he continues to see Dr. Lecter.
Dr. Lecter is helping.
As he sits in the smooth, leather chair, it makes no noise. It is perfect- just like Hannibal. In fact, everything about Hannibal is perfect and pristine, and that is why Will clings on so tightly to the doctor. He wants to feel put-together, balanced, but he just continues to grab at lifeless strings that disconnect from the objective, causing them to fall limp in his cold, lonely hands. Not long ago, he was happy- or close enough to happy. Now, he can't even remember where he is half of the time. All he is doing is struggling, strugging for solid groud that feels so close yet so far, and the more he reaches, the farther he gets from himself.
Will Graham is alone. He is a bitter man who endures the everyday torment of becoming less and less human.