How To Fail So You’ll Succeed

People often get irritated with me for continually saying that I suck, that I hate my work, that I’ll never be successful or that I don’t wanna do what I do anymore, but what they fail to realize (somehow, even after I tell them this) is that I need to externalize the internal in order to continue going. I need to believe I’m bad so I can continue to prove myself wrong with each new success.

By belittling myself to myself, by telling myself that I’ll never reach my own standards, all it does is make me feel incredible when I do reach those standards, when I do reach even a small piece of success. That drive is what keeps me going. If I don’t say these things, that hatred sits inside of me and festers into a horrid bubble of pure rage, and then I never get anything done. That’s way more unhealthy. I succeed because I believe I can’t.

Now that isn’t to say there aren’t times I really do believe what comes out of my mouth, because believe me, there are, and it’s a lot of the time too. Being touched by failure for the majority of your life, outside of career and inside career, really makes you feel pretty fucking terrible about your chances with success. That being said, more often than not do I use it as a way to continue to push myself towards the goals I wish to achieve with my work, and my life in general. Negativity is a bad copying mechanism? Bitch, please. It’s my only coping mechanism.

My entire life I’ve been told by people that I will never succeed. By my peers, even some people in my family at one time or another, and yes, you eventually start to believe a little bit of that, or all of it, in some peoples cases. But for me, spite thrives my craving for success. You wanna tell me how much I suck? We’ll see how much I suck when I’m happy and successful and you’re bitter that you’re still suck in that loveless marriage or in the same crappy job you claim you hate but can’t leave to chase whatever dreams you might’ve once had. Guess what. Dreams don’t go away with age. You will always have your dreams, so stop saying you can’t go after them after a certain age. THAT’S real negativity.

You hate me for achieving my goals? You hate me for even attempting to? Go try and achieve your own. Be happy. Tell yourself you can’t, and then do it, and prove yourself wrong. Be a successful failure. “Fake it ’til you make it”? No. Fail it, then nail it.

Own your sadness.


I Have Nothing Left To Say

I have nothing left to say, and this devastates me.

I have no more original thoughts of anything creative to say. I can’t create. I can’t dream. What does a “creative” person do when they can no longer create? They stop being, honestly, which is what’s happened to me. I just sort of….am, now. I sit and listen to music, I eat, I take care of the house. I just do things to fill the time in my day that used to go to creating art, and this is just….it’s soul crushing. I have nothing left inside of me that scratches to get out. That doesn’t let itself go until I vomit it up into some form of artistic expression. I don’t know how to exist like this, and I don’t want to exist like this.

But creativity isn’t something you can force, either, so a lot of it’s just sitting around and waiting for something to inspire me. For something to come to me, and for me to go, “Yeah, that’s okay, I’ll make that!”. I’m lost. I’m completely empty and cold and don’t know what to do anymore. I think sometimes some people are meant to give up on what they thought they were “meant” to do, a sort of realization that destiny isn’t a real thing and that no, you just sort of lied to yourself for a few good years and now the magic is gone and it’s time to grow up and realize you need to join the ‘real world’. What does one do when that happens? I think often they go mad, or become so depressed that they often kill themselves.

While I’m not in the market to die anytime soon, which is a step in the right direction, I suppose, it’s still not where I want to be. I don’t enjoy anything. I don’t enjoy creation and I don’t enjoy existing without creating. Where does that leave me? It often leaves me laying in my bed or on the couch and just staring at the ceiling or the wall. It leaves me empty. I have no desire to participate with other human beings, and I barely had any energy or willingness to even type this entry, let alone come up with something to type about. And how cliche is this? “Oh, waaah, I can’t create, I’m too depressed to create, guess I’ll talk about my depression!”

Now I’m nothing but a trope.

I started this blog with the intent on figuring out things about myself, but what happens when it turns out you have nothing inside of you worth learning about? When you’re just not that interesting? I don’t know, and I’m afraid to find out. Perhaps there’s nothing inside of me worthy of getting out, of being seen, of being heard. Art. Writing. These are the only things I know how to do. It’s how I’ve tried, unsuccessfully, for the last 15 years to make a living, and now even I’m realizing I have nothing worth listening to or looking at. At least people who read these blog posts are disappointed in short bursts once or twice a month, I’m disappointed in long stretches of time every single day because I’m stuck with me, and stuck with my failure.

Whatever. Who cares. Nobody cares when I have something to say, so why would anyone care when I have nothing to say. Sorry.

I’m really sorry.


Other People Are Doctors

It’s 8:15 pm on a Tuesday night, and I just outbid and won an ebay auction for a copy of Wolfenstein: The New Order.

Other people are doctors.

It’s weird when you sort of accept failure as your best talent. I can fail better than anyone. Give me something and I guarantee you that I will fail at it. And if you fail at succeeding, doesn’t that sort of make you a success? I failed at being straight, I failed at having my parents love me, and you can bet I’m gonna burn the shit out of this grilled cheese too, because that’s just how I roll. I will say though, there’s a sense of comfort in failure. There’s a sense of comfort in accepting that your standards for yourself and your accomplishments are so low that even YOU can’t be disappointed by them.

People say it’s not good to compare yourself to others, especially based on sense of achievements, but I think you kind of have to. I recently read a quote that said something along the lines of “it’s ok if you don’t do anything with your life other than exist, it doesn’t make you or your time spent here any less valid”, and while this is true, I do think for some people it’s nice to have that comparison to other people to drive you to do better. I know for a fact that I’m irritated as hell that I can work my ass off writing for over 10 years, have essentially zero success at it and yet “Cat gets lost in a paper bag” gets 13 million views in two days on youtube and he now has his own TV show. That just makes me try harder. In the past year since living with my girlfriend at her folks place, I’ve written almost 4 complete novels. That’s more than I’ve ever done, especially in that amount of time. But can your own failure motivate your own urge to succeed?

It’s a little hard to start caring at age 26 when I haven’t cared for the majority of the years that preceded this one. When I’ve spent a good portion of my life openly admitting that I’m a failure, and that it’s just who I am and I’ve embraced that, it is a little strange to suddenly be hit with a feeling of “shiiiit, if only I could sell SOMETHING I’ve created…” and not for the sake of fame or money, but simply for the sake of more people seeing the work and hoping it resonates with them. Art isn’t about money. It’s about self fulfillment and self introspection and okay sometimes stuffing dollar bills down Wendys thong but in the end it’s about looking inward and trying to grow as a person. If that same artwork helps other people too? Well that’s just a bigger bonus. THAT’S my paycheck. Not…ya know…a paycheck. So I say yes, other people are doctors, and that’s great. Congratulations to them and their trophy wife and their third houseboat.

But I’m me. Failure or not I’m me and that’s a success too, even if only because I’m good at being terrible. Hey, this self loathing thing ain’t easy, okay? It takes a lot of time and energy to maintain this amount of suck.

I’m a failure. That’s just who I am.