There are days that are very good. Days I feel successful in my endeavors, days I understand I brought value to someone or something.
And there are days I cannot hardly stand that I exist and use up valuable resources of my family, or even resources of the world… like oxygen. Those are the worst days. When I cannot understand why I am alive. When God feels cruel because He has allowed me another breath.
What are those days? They are when I realize how unsuccessful I still am. When I missed every item on my checklist. When I reacted inappropriately in my anger. And when I realize how untrustworthy I am.
Typically I blame others for my failure. He should have sent me a reminder. He should have done a better job of teaching me how to use my tools. She did not explain it clearly. She did not…
And at the end of my excuses, I pause and know that I am the one who failed. I am the one incapable. I am the one who should have. And in that dawning I wish I could die and be removed from the overwhelming knowledge that I am failing. The knowledge that I am not the capable, contributing member of society I once was.