When you have to kill the roach, you are not the same person as when you did not have to kill it.
You do not marvel over its size. You do not stop to think: Now why is there a roach on my wall?
You pick up your shoe and you crush it.
You do not scream like this:
You do not call anyone to tell them how horrible it is there is a roach on the wall.
Maybe they will tell you they are not surprised, given the way you have lived your life.
No one is going to kill that roach for you.
That thought sinks in during darkest blackness, not during the day when you are killing it.
And there are no shoes for killing thoughts.