I Am Not A Failure…


I am a fish out of water.

We wouldn’t say that a fish was a failure for not being able to breathe air and deal with life out of the water.

For many years I have called myself a failure for my inability to deal with life. But, I’m not going to do that anymore. It’s not the fish’s fault that it can’t cope with life out of the water. It simply isn’t equipped to function in the air.

Of course, I hear you say, we would call the fish a failure who couldn’t breathe water and swim. You would say that I should be able to cope with life but, because I can’t, I’m a failure. And, perhaps you’re right. But, consider, you may not be. I may truly not belong in this world.

You can continue to call me a failure. I just won’t listen and won’t be calling myself a failure anymore. I know I don’t belong in this world and no matter how hard I try, like a gasping fish, to succeed at this life, it’s not going to happen. I’ve tried. And, you know, I haven’t been able to do it. I have not failed. I just haven’t been able to do it because I’m not equipped to.


It’s Bigger On The Inside

The days roll by, still very much under the category of “can’t be bothered”. Eh, “roll by” would suggest a smoothness not characteristic of these rough days. But, I’m still (at this point) determined to post occasionally. So, here’s an occasion and a post.

This damned depression. I could certainly use a Doctor with a wonderful way to escape.

The T.A.R.D.I.S.


It’s bigger on the inside.

So, too, is my journey. I wish to withdraw, to close in and down, but I keep reaching out even as I sink within.

The antidepressants are not doing what I’d hoped. What did I hope? I was under no impression that they would simply sort me out in such a way that I could all of a sudden function like the rest of the world. But, I had expected a little help in the coping department, an edge taken off. All they seem to be doing is drying up my sea of tears, all the while doing nothing to ease the feeling of torment or the inability to “function”. So, I’m a wreck that just doesn’t cry.

I guess it’s back to the doctor for me. I know she, too, was hoping that the little pill would just make things better. I’m sorry I will have to disappoint her. I’m sorry that nothing is easy. I’m sorry she doesn’t have a magical blue box that can whisk me away from my pain and struggle.

And, again, not for the last time, I wish I could just escape.