failure...
Sometimes I think I'm actually scared of success... and when I say think I mean know, and when I say sometimes... well.
I don't like to lose but I think I'm better at it than winning. And at the very least I've certainly got more practice. So I feel like a failure. I feel like I've failed myself, I feel like I've failed Ali more so, and I feel like I've failed a lot of friends. If life were a test, I'm pretty sure I would have an F.
Why is it that I don't feel validated unless I have some else's approval? I don't think I've done a good drawing until some one likes it. Which is why I used to always give them away. There is something deeply misaligned in me that I'm not sure chiropracters even know about.
I feel worse about having let Ali down then I do about myself. As if, I always knew I was a moron but now she does too. No I'm not sure what I mean. I lack eloquence and style. I lack clarity and a sure smile. I lack everything that I pretend to have and that's what kills me.
I know I need some spac. I know I need to go camping alone and lie in the woods and look up at the leaves and seperate the layers. I know I shouln't be spreading myself so thin. I know I should be getting lost inside my own head instead of lost out in the city. I know all of this.
And I say I can't do it right now because being in this apartment rips me apart. And being out of it thinking about someone else moving into it rips me apart and I know more that I've failed.
I know I have made so many mistakes over the past few years and if I could take them back I would. But i can't and I shouldn't able to.
I shouldn't be able to say that I'm sorry and be forgiven. Not yet. Now now.
I want that feeling to come back where everything felt air. Like wind. Where nothing was too heavy and everything was funny. I want so badly to succeed, but I always come back to that deep lieing idea that I will perpetually be trying. That I will always come up short on success.
So I make jokes... and put up another layer. And I hide behind a thicker skin. And I get sadder and colder and more alone.
And it destroys me to read the things that she rights and now that every single stingy word is true. They all ring so true to the point where it's deafening. And I bottle it up and put up another layer.
I just don't want to do that any more... because I'm failing on all counts. I can't even succeed at turning myself off. I can hide it from everyone and I can pretend it's ok and I can drink another beer.
And I can stumble home to the apartment in the dark so that I don't have to see it. So I don't have to be reminded of all of the beautiful things that we said or did or had or ate or didn't eat. And the laughter... the goddam fucking laughter. Why did we have to laugh so much, I still fucking hear it and this apartment is haunting me and I need to get out of it.
So I ride my bike and I work the longest shifts and I go out all night and I try to run away from it all. And it brings me right back to her being right all along.
And I want to fix it... fuck do I want to fix it. But so far... I'm failing.
I don't like to lose but I think I'm better at it than winning. And at the very least I've certainly got more practice. So I feel like a failure. I feel like I've failed myself, I feel like I've failed Ali more so, and I feel like I've failed a lot of friends. If life were a test, I'm pretty sure I would have an F.
Why is it that I don't feel validated unless I have some else's approval? I don't think I've done a good drawing until some one likes it. Which is why I used to always give them away. There is something deeply misaligned in me that I'm not sure chiropracters even know about.
I feel worse about having let Ali down then I do about myself. As if, I always knew I was a moron but now she does too. No I'm not sure what I mean. I lack eloquence and style. I lack clarity and a sure smile. I lack everything that I pretend to have and that's what kills me.
I know I need some spac. I know I need to go camping alone and lie in the woods and look up at the leaves and seperate the layers. I know I shouln't be spreading myself so thin. I know I should be getting lost inside my own head instead of lost out in the city. I know all of this.
And I say I can't do it right now because being in this apartment rips me apart. And being out of it thinking about someone else moving into it rips me apart and I know more that I've failed.
I know I have made so many mistakes over the past few years and if I could take them back I would. But i can't and I shouldn't able to.
I shouldn't be able to say that I'm sorry and be forgiven. Not yet. Now now.
I want that feeling to come back where everything felt air. Like wind. Where nothing was too heavy and everything was funny. I want so badly to succeed, but I always come back to that deep lieing idea that I will perpetually be trying. That I will always come up short on success.
So I make jokes... and put up another layer. And I hide behind a thicker skin. And I get sadder and colder and more alone.
And it destroys me to read the things that she rights and now that every single stingy word is true. They all ring so true to the point where it's deafening. And I bottle it up and put up another layer.
I just don't want to do that any more... because I'm failing on all counts. I can't even succeed at turning myself off. I can hide it from everyone and I can pretend it's ok and I can drink another beer.
And I can stumble home to the apartment in the dark so that I don't have to see it. So I don't have to be reminded of all of the beautiful things that we said or did or had or ate or didn't eat. And the laughter... the goddam fucking laughter. Why did we have to laugh so much, I still fucking hear it and this apartment is haunting me and I need to get out of it.
So I ride my bike and I work the longest shifts and I go out all night and I try to run away from it all. And it brings me right back to her being right all along.
And I want to fix it... fuck do I want to fix it. But so far... I'm failing.