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You're not a useless teammate - - oh, no. Uselessness implies a sum total effect of 0% in contribution towards a given subject. Useless is the equivalent of being nothing, or 0. You are not 0 - - you are LESS than 0. You are a negative sum total in the grand contribution of not only any of the Steam games you may play, not even purely within the confines of your enjoyment of games in general - but in everything you do in every regard. Your aspirations are for naught, because your thumbs are very seemingly as deteriorated in their quality as the ever-dying neurological function taking place within your cranium.
Inquire on some assistance - whether that be through mentorship or through therapy, it truly does not matter to me. I feel both are equally crucial to a Neanderthalic roach such as yourself.
I was doing 201wpm for 40 secs straight while recording a video. My brain started to unfocus so much on the test, I could only think about uploading the video, seeing my new rank on the leaderboard, my new roles on the server, people dming me about the insane score I was about to get, how my friends would react and how it would be to be the fastest person to have ever typed in portuguese out of 250 million native speakers. Thankfully, this was all about to happen in less than 20 seconds. You know what happened? Suddenly I start to choke. All those thoughts happened in a fraction of a second, couldn't think about the test, couldn't type anymore. I was focused enough to commit few mistakes but not focused enough to be able to deal with the mistakes. I dont like anxiety at all. I will kill a dog with a spoon today. Do not get on my way.
Six hasn't been the same since he left Vietnam. He can seldom close his eyes without opening them again at fear of Charlies lurking in the jungle trees. Not that you could ever see the bastards, mind you. They were swift, and they knew their way around the jungle like nothing else. He remembers the looks on the boys' faces as he walked into that village and... oh, Jesus. The memories seldom left him, either. Sometimes he'd reminisce - even hear - Tex's southern drawl. He remembers the smell of Brooklyn's cigarettes like nothing else. He always kept a pack of Lucky's with him. The boys are gone, now. He knows that; it's just that he forgets, sometimes. And, every now and then, the way that seven looks at him with avid concern in his eyes... it makes him think. Sets him on edge. Makes him feel like he's back there... in the jungle.