Atychiphobia: the clinical fear of failure.

There’s nothing like thinking you can’t do anything right, that your inadequacies are too great to live.  Or you’re not “legitimate” in what you do or even as a person because you’re rejected in big ways and small, even by people who’re supposed to care.  And the toxic behaviors you carry from a life of neglect isolate you further.

It’s always more than one thing or one matter with me.  I’m never really okay.  Some have called what I have depression, but it’s not the same.  I’m down and out of luck, and the attempt to take charge goes nowhere.  Whatever it is, I’ve had it for a long time.  And life only gets harder the older I get, as with anyone else.

Recently, I’d been going through a degree or two of hell with myself over the need to answer for myself, my wasted time, my failing as a person.

Writing— actually writing— has stalled indefinitely.  No material for a post, anything beyond some comment or tweet.  (And twitter, my God.  Sometimes it defines the word ‘toxic.’)  It’s been hard for me to corroborate facts on what I seek to write.

Connecting is very hard for me, if you didn’t already read that.  It’s easy to lose hope, and there have been some new lows despite some pivotal advancements (someone will be coming over this month in regards to potential vocational support… it’s October, by the way).  Things drag on, and I don’t make the days count.

Still, I need people.  The problem is, I’m exhausted in so many ways.  I can’t really deal with the insanity in the news, interaction, and yet I’m interacting.  To an extent, I’ve lost touch with myself and knowing what I’m doing.

Sleep deprived and incoherent… rambling… slowly… I feel a bit guilty about the advice I give sometimes, despite being careful.  Rarely do I have a place in anyone’s life, and it kills me.

This year, I thought I had enough love with my faraway friend, that our bond would do it for me, but after some mistakes on my part she pushed me out.  It affected me more than I knew; I lost something.  I lost the ability to connect with new people, at least at the time.  We restored the friendship, but it was never the same again.

There’s a lot of sickness and devastation out there in the world today.  But nothing lasts forever.  Before you know it, another year passes.  And any semblance of “normal” has come and gone.

As if I was ever normal.

Don’t be so afraid of failure to the point you can’t move forward.  Be kind to you too.

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