I did my best today.

I think tonight I finally started to figure out what that actually means.

Until tonight, I thought my best was always the most that could be expected of me at any given time, on any given day, in whatever circumstance. At work, for example, my best would be getting absolutely everything done that needs doing by the end of the day, carrying nothing over to the next day. So, anything less than that wasn’t my best. Ergo, I failed most days, clearly not doing my best, and riding home with the guilt and shame of that.

Of course, this isn’t actually what it means to normal people.

Doing one’s best would seem to imply that whatever one manages to accomplish at any given time, on any given day, in whatever circumstance, is actually one’s best for that time, day, or circumstance. Therefore, although I did not get as much done as would have been ideal, I can say that I did my best at work today. Given where I am.

And, that’s actually good enough for me.

Funny, how I seem to have twisted the meaning of things to maximize feeling like shit about myself.

And, while all of that is true–while I did have that realization earlier this evening–it’s not really the truth of this moment. I’m pissed off and grumpy as hell. I’m on day two of not smoking and I feel like shit. I hate almost everything about my life right now. I can’t take any of it too seriously and yet, it feels serious. I did what I had to do today and little more. I woke up thinking that I will simply spend the rest of my life shut down, numb, and disconnected. That, I decided, is how I would survive.

I didn’t want to say any of this initially because it’s ugly and kind of dramatic. It’s being pushed to that side by nicotine withdrawal, but there it is. I’m still trying to plan a life in which I don’t have to be me. Because I don’t know how to live as me. I really and truly don’t.