Exit, Pursued By A Bear

It's only Tuesday.

At the beginning of each week, I made goals. I'm determined to have a perfect week where I eat healthy, work out, and get all my homework in on time and well done. I try to include some other successful adult stuff in there like "control your RBF so people don't think you want to kill them" and "maybe you should write your book. Or play. Or any of the million projects you have." Sometimes I dream about an hour or so when I can play my guitar. Usually, Monday and Tuesday go pretty great and then something happens Wednesday night and it throws off the rest of the week so by the time I get back to Sunday, I spend most of church apologizing for my inability to "even" and swearing I will be better the next week.

This week, it was Tuesday.

It technically started on Monday when Monday Evening found me distraught because I couldn't decide if I was an evil person in general, or if I just wasn't worth someone's time. Either way, I felt I had to repent for whatever I was doing wrong. I didn't go to bed at 10:30 like I said I would. Sorry.

I didn't work out Tuesday morning because I didn't get much sleep the night before. I had a pretty molasses kind of morning, but I managed to get to class on time. I successfully barged through the school day, unable to concentrate but desperately attempting to read a 5-act play, accepting my unusually low retention rate. I apologized for being distracted and unproductive.

In the following class, I found out people were scared or concerned because I come across as really off-putting. It's true-- I have notorious RBF as well as crippling social anxiety. I don't deal with large groups of people very well. So I told them I was sorry and tried to show a little happiness.

I tried to do homework tonight, but I wanted to take care of those that were close to me and struggling. Unfortunately for the second loved one who approached me, I wasn't able to concentrate, didn't understand the tones of the texts, and didn't fulfill my duties as a friend. I made things worse-- and for that I apologize.

It's only Tuesday night-- and I want the world to know that I have done my best.

I'm accepting the fact that there are probably going to be assignments that won't get turned in tomorrow. I'm trying to be okay with the hit it'll take in my grade. I'm already writing my apologies to my mentors and teachers that I work with daily. I'm begging for my friend's forgiveness. I'm trying to make it better. I'm trying to be better.

I've never asked anyone to cut me some slack because of this or that. I have never made excuses for myself and even in the midst of panic attacks, heartbreaks and emergencies, I go to class or work and I do my best.

At what point does the world say that my best is not good enough?