Miserable Failure (Photo credit: dannysullivan)
And so, I proclaimed myself a “failure” in the caption. Unsuccessful No Matter What™ and disheartened each time I try… will do that.
You may have met a lot of losers in your lifetime, but have you ever met a failure? It’s the worst. So I’ll include some emoticons to make it
crap edgy. (And a hearty :fu: to the new trend: Emoji. Cat Dissection is something )
And “there,” here in my life, is: no family, no support, no tools, no experience, and gradually abandoned one way or another. And it gets worse from there.
There is no try. There is only do.
(And I don’t know how.)
I am unique in the world in a really, really bad way. I am sensitive in that I am unstable. I would be more ambitious if I wasn’t so disabled. I can change if… things I cannot control would change. Thereby, Ineffectual is my middle name. To gain nary a success, or risk losing integrity like Mike Klein in The TV Set. But for me? But for nothing!
Reduced to this place, the brain power for a-this. Failing even a-this, “nothing is worth it.” FAil—ure…
Misunderstood by even those that say they are misunderstood —No! Doors closed, lower than your worst peers, an outcast of outcasts. “Oh Lord, I wish I could change that. I wish… but I… can’t… ‘pick myself up’; I don’t have what it takes. I can’t even keep my marbles alone like this. Going blind— well, no one wants to hear that!”
So, after accepting that perceived fact that I will die alone, it… it becomes easier to do anything, in a way.
Oh, it’s me in action, but not with true confidence. It’s me in motion, not being “worth it.”
As if a waste of time to be harassed or sued. I have no money; you will get nothing. “Please, don’t scam me,” —me, the opposite of Because You’re Worth It®. Or like Stiffler in the final American Pie movie (emphasis on final, hopefully)— punching someone for his friend, to say something of, ‘I’m not worth it.’ He won’t be sued.
“With neither the tools nor the support…”
This is how things are, and how things remain. “Forever…” That’s one way to lose the trolls, On the Internets, the Information Super-Highway: be so eye-poppingly/unforgivingly pitiful. Or you could respond to the Haters (’yo) with some insane congratulations:
“I hope you DIE a long, torturous death!” Response: Yay!
As a short disclaimer (too late), it is not my intention to encourage the badness; I don’t want to be this way. You don’t want to be me. No matter who you are, you are in a better place, I am certain. I am a reflection of the corrupt Western world that, for the purpose of reminding themselves that they aren’t as bad, elects and erects —Anthony Weiner— people of terrible character.
(Lately, Rob Ford, the Toronto mayor for example: cra-cocaine and a tirade of voicing killing someone and he stays in office?)
Life may be hard for you, but at least you’re closer to an honest living than… this ass. Your struggle is more real. You could be a Third World veteran, used to horrible conditions, and everything you’ve gone through would be justified compared to my inexcusable, dishonorable, rotting carcass… *ahem* that needs a support group just to continue to be stuck, reserved and quiet and breaking and sucking and stupid.
But also a product of my horrible environment, exercising —not my ass, but— some of the worst elements. Sucked in, and… sucking ever since.
Don’t get me wrong (or do; whatever)— I’m no criminal, nor one who cheats on tests or lovers— a tasteful way of stating that, right? But I have cheated on, dropped out on life. I chose math and logic for certainty in my answers, and poo-pooed life.
I… can’t… stand, proverbially. And literally speaking, I can’t stand up without getting stars; I am horribly, terribly, deadly-deathly out of shape. I could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. Unfortunately, I’m not kidding.
I know what you might be thinking: what you’re doing is pretty low— even unfair, unreasonable. Again, expecting from me what most take for granted. Assumption making is in part lying to yourself, I say to you— oh-ho!
Oh, how does someone like me ever have friends when I do this, especially when no one asks for any favors. The answer: I don’t have friends.
I don’t even have my mother, nor her I. (Sorry, Sonya. (Referring to an old comment.))
And sorry to everyone else for my presence, etc.