You ever feel worthless as a human being? When I’m in a funk, that’s the first thought that always crawls up. People like to remind me of my value—yada, yada, yada—but I still can’t climb over that wall sometimes.

 

I saw the shrink yesterday. And yes, I know some of you are thinking, “Good, you probably need one on speed dial.” You’d be right. Honestly, I’d worry more about the mental health of someone who wouldn’t admit that.

 

We covered the usual shrink stuff—regret, coping, strategies. Then out of nowhere, another gremlin popped up: inadequacy. Maybe it ties into pride, maybe not. But it hit a nerve.

 

Truth is, I’ve always felt inadequate. I never excelled in sports (always the last one picked), was a mediocre student, and played an instrument in band that I was painfully average at. The only reason they kept me around was because I played French horn—an instrument nobody else wanted.

 

My peers weren’t exactly subtle about my mediocrity, either. That’s how you grow a good, solid inferiority complex by age twelve.

 

The Crowned Prince of Mediocrity. That’s what Salieri called himself in Amadeus. I get it. Over time, you learn to live with it. In fact, mediocrity almost has its perks—you can shine over the tiniest accomplishments. It’s how people like me trick ourselves into feeling some sense of achievement.

 

I know I’m being brutal with myself. But many days, I feel like I have nothing to show for my life. Yet, I keep plodding forward. Walking and breathing at the same time has become its own little triumph.

 

And yes, I know I’ve made differences in people’s lives. Spare me the pep talks. For every good thing I’ve done, I’ve screwed up five others. If there’s a wrong move to make after an achievement, trust me—I’ll find it.

 

A little over two years ago, I escaped an abusive relationship—but only because the other person killed themselves. I was relieved, then I drowned myself in substances. I bled money and time on “friends” who used me and then ghosted me. Out of everyone I’ve helped over decades, I’ve got one friend still standing—and even that feels precarious.

 

I did okay in the military. Plenty of fuck-ups, sure, but enough successes to balance them out. Not that it matters now. To most people, a veteran’s service is background noise—they thank you on Veterans Day, then forget you and the scars you carry.

 

Case in point: some random person told me the other day that I act “entitled” to free healthcare. Same old bullshit. First off, my healthcare isn’t free. I signed papers at 17 swearing to defend this country and its Constitution. Some of us came home with missing limbs, some with scrambled minds, some—if they were lucky—relatively intact. So no, Karen, it isn’t free.

 

And then the next step is always trashing the VA. Sure, the VA has problems. But I worked for that organization for nearly 15 years, and I never met a provider who didn’t genuinely care. As a patient, I’ve had some of the most direct, no-bullshit care I’ve ever experienced. People love to bash the VA, but what they really need to do is shut up, fund it properly, and let veterans get the care they’ve earned.

 

So yeah—entitlement rants still make my blood boil. I should probably have thicker skin by now, but I don’t.

 

All I can do is wear my mediocrity like a crown and hope that, somewhere along the way, I did something that mattered to someone.

 

At least my dog and my mom don’t think I’m mediocre. They’ll always see the best in me. And maybe that’s enough.

 

Happy Friday.