My life has been full of failure. So full that it’s overflowing the oversize ancient carved barrel, full of the finest whiskey, and is seeping into the carpeting.
I sat for more than three minutes, trying to come up with something positive in my life right now, and I couldn’t. I sound like a hugely negative person, but I’m not, Really.
I want life to be” “happily ever after” and Deadpool riding unicorns.
But it’s far from that way. No unicorns. No Deadpool. Instead, we get depression, because the latest great idea just took a dump from the bow of your neighbor’s boat. It was a straight plop with no skidmarks, so they were cool with it.
How many great ideas for failed projects is this in a row? Fifteen? Eighteen? I lost count in the mid-single digits. All I know is that it’s too many.
And with each failure, my self-esteem takes another step closer to the edge of the cliff. At this rate, I’d definitely be at the bottom by morning.
What’s my problem? One is that I’m autistic and doing things the normal way doesn’t always work for me. I sometimes have to find a little different way to communicate, and traditional “signs” like a wink or a nod can get lost on us very easily.
I try to put the individual failed dream out of my head ASAP, but I can still see and hear bits and pieces of the experiences and how I screwed up.
You see, in my reality, it’s Groundhog Day. The same situation keeps popping up, but at the end of the day, I screw it up each time. No one else. Just me.
It’s stupid. It’s laughable, and it’s scary.
Writing, the one thing I know that I’m good at, I’m deathly afraid to do. This piece had one line for nine days and now look at it. It’s almost a fully grown blog post.
I wish I had an answer to my fear problem, but I may never figure that out. All I know is that sometime soon I can hope we have answers for this type of piled on depression.