Success is defined as the achievement of something desired, planned, or attempted. Wow. I couldn't even succeed at turning off the light in the garage 45 seconds after the it caught my eye while I was outside, and my return in to the house. I seem to be this plethora of un-success. I am the nemesis of success and I have the cape to prove it! Okay, the cape may just be Given's blanket that I traipse through the house in, tied around my neck, hours after she has fallen asleep. It's a uniform all the same, and it's my symbol of achievement of the anti-achievement. I may have just morphed into a double negative.
Moving beyond my identity crisis, I often wonder what others see as their success, and whose life they compare theirs too. Let's face the reality, I dump Given's milk down the drain when no one is around, just so I have an excuse to run to store. Stater Bros. is the only grocery store for fifteen miles, so every walk of life must come in for their packaged dinners at some point. I look at the women in their silk pajamas, curlers, and occasional toilet paper on the bottom of the slipper, and think, "I'm really not that bad." A man in his 70's will pass, and as I catch a glimpse of his Marilyn Monroe t-shirt peek through his overalls, I think, "I am not that bad. And where is his owner?" The point is these people make me feel better about my life; myself; my full set of teeth.
I struggle daily with the idea that I may never reach the top of this hole I dug so many years ago. I used to be a go getter, but after time the things I went to get took what I used to have. The vicious cycle of destruction was easy to join. I was a functioning self-sabotagaholic, a very good one for some time. I drank, I drugged, and almost crashed Hell's party, all because I could not find comfort in my skin. There was no explaining this to anyone. Back when I started the self-destructive pattern at the ripe age of 10, I couldn't even explain to myself why my mind lived at warp speed. The stereotype of insanity: a schizophrenic in the corner, hands covering their ears, rocking violently back and forth while their head beats on the wall, this is who I was inside. I screamed for someone to hear my silence to no avail. All I knew from that time on was in order to quiet the demons, I needed to alter their source. My efforts were futile, and my results grim. I took the success of my work, finances and personal relationships, and offered them in sacrifice to any chemical, self-mutilation, or hatred that came my way.
Now that the demons no longer control my mind, my desire to implode dead, I look around and I have no outward example of the new creation inside. Where is my job, my license, my ability to visit a friend or family at whim? Where is my blessing to show Given the beautiful world I took for granted? Where am I to find the self-esteem to hold my head high in front of old high school friends, when I hear or read of their fancy dining, never ending weekend trips, vacations, private schools for their children, or beautiful gift their non-crack smoking husband got for them just because it was Tuesday?
I know how awesome I am, and that given the one opportunity to get back in to the mainstream, I would rock the world's socks off and show that there is nothing I can't do. I know that God has this major plan for Given and I, and it's not something anyone could imagine. I know that I will be a face people recognize, a household name of good standing, and an example, mentor and resource for those whose road I've been down before. I know these things. But does anyone else?
Success: The achievement of something desire, planned, or attempted. I desire to follow through with the plan to achieve anything I attempt. And that first attempt at greatness is to make sure that even if no one else knows that I am a step above the best, only because they are looking for my surface worth, I will not bow to defeat in any form. I will soon be known as the success I already know I am.
