Somewhere along the line I decided I was not very good at anything.

This sounds like the opening line to a bad short story, but I assure you, it's merely a reflection on my life. Some will say this is matter of opinion, but I beg to differ. For it's fact, you see, you can't tamper with it. Try as I might, I don't foresee myself doing anything productive or useful or creative in the future. Even if I wanted to. Which is a sad thing to come to terms with, but I think that's just how it is. And you might think I'm depressed and that's why I'm writing this, but my mind is quite clear now. I'm not crying, and I'm not even feeling the least bit low. I just feel like giving up, throwing in the towel, building a giant cave using my linens and not coming out. Because what's the use anyhow? If I'm not good at anything, then...

Or I could just suck it up, head to the library, and check out some books on neuroscience.