“Failure refers to the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.”  - Wikipedia.

That day started out as any other day, really. It was just that it was going to shatter my very core, turn my whole life upside-down that I didn’t know yet. And so I woke up (obviously), washed my face in too cold water (as I never learn) and before turning on my computer I made too strong coffee which left a bitter taste in my mouth (but thanks to good old Daisy it tasted deliciously). For my brain to start functioning properly every morning I have this ritual that I need to perform. I’m simply no good without it. And so; I scan through the news, check my social networks, jerk off to blondes getting pounded, and then I read random articles on Wikipedia, thinking it will make me look smart. Not that I ever think I’ll fit Kim Rossmo (a Canadian criminologist, thank you very much) or Doctor Spektor into a conversation, but still. Anyhow, that still ordinary day I randomly got the chance to read the article about the concept of failing and that of being a failure and I wish I hadn’t, really.   

I’ve never been one to worry about things. I’ve been cool like that. But since that piece of crap article I’ve started to worry, and now; I worry a lot. For whatever reason that first sentence made me look back at my life (however dramatically that may sound), and since it did; I suddenly can’t help but notice all those things that I’ve done that didn’t meet a desirable or intended objective and all those things that may be viewed as the opposite of success. I mean, for one, I desired a girlfriend all the way from middle school to college and it was my objective to get one, but I suppose you could consider me unsuccessful in that department (just as I unsuccessfully never obtained a rabbit named Ben as a child). I also desired to get into a nice, private collage but ended up at a community one. That in turn ended up giving me a pretty unsuccessful job as well as a much undesirable wife (a brunette). Later, my wife and I desired to have kids but as it turned out; I failed to perform (yes) and our desires were never met. Our divorce was quite successful though, on her part at least. What more is, I’ve never been abroad, I can’t speak a second language (part from a few arousing words in French), I live in this tiny apartment which looks a dorm room, my neighbors are all bachelors (you can tell from the smell when entering the complex) and to top it off; I haven’t had sex in seven years.

Funny thing though; I’ve never been bothered by it. Until now. Until stumbling onto that article. An article that put my entire life into a new light. No matter how much you look at it, I’ve somehow turned into something everyone dreads to become. And I wasn’t even aware of it. I went from happily unknowing to mortified in just 5 seconds. Today marks the fourth day of bed rest as I in a state of shock turned the computer off and then went back to bed. Where I wept (in a manly fashion). And that’s where I’ve been staying ever since. I can’t bring myself to get up. I’m not even sure how to face myself in the mirror without getting the urge to punch myself right in the face. It’s also horrible how I’m probably the last one to find out about this. Suddenly I can’t blame my wife for leaving or my boss for never promoting me, I can’t even find it in my heart to blame my parents for never calling anymore. Where does one go from here (part from the shower as I reek of four days of sweat)? The article said nothing about that. It enlightened me in a horrible kind of way and then left me shattered, stripped naked of everything I once thought I was. I’m nothing anymore. Nothing at all actually. I’m just a.. just a..

Oh god. Oh god..

By: playinreverse