All success is relative. There are no ifs or buts about it. Any general, blanket-rule definition of success is arbitrary. It has to be. Your idea of success might be based on how much you have acquired; my idea of success might be based on how much I have given away. Relative! Society’s broadly stroked characterisations of success are only as real as we make them, individually. They are given weight on a case-by-case basis.

Logically it follows that failure must also be defined in relative terms. Failure, like success, is made real on a case-by-case basis. And that’s because failure is success’s opposite. Failure and success sit on different sides of the same coin. They’re both defined relatively, from person to person.

There are no rules governing success or failure, either. They are only as we define them to be. We are the ones who make the rules. All of us. Myself included. The rules for success are made from person to person. It’s relative. I know this. I believe this. It makes sense to me. Blanket rules haven’t ever made sense to me. Society’s rules that define success and failure make less than zero sense to me. They’re stupid. Ignorant. Narrow sighted.

So why do I still like such a fucking failure?

I know that there’s no real reason for me to feel like a failure. I make the rules. I define success as I define failure. But a failure, I still feel. It’s undeniable. I feel absolutely worthless. And it’s driving me nuts.

Last night I couldn’t sleep because of these forlorn feelings. This morning they woke me up at 5am demanding that I write them down. They want to be heard. They want to be communicated. They want me to acknowledge them, to pay them careful attention. But they’re absurd. And they make no sense.

But worst of all, they make perfect sense.

They don’t make sense and they do make sense at the same time. They let me justify the irrational. They beguile me into believing that I’m worthless. A failure. Unsuccessful. Stupid. Even though I know that, from a rationalised point of view, these ideas I hold of myself aren’t necessarily true. Even though I know these ideas are, exactly like success and failure, relative. Even though I know that I am the one who make the rules, they convince me otherwise. They convince me that I’m a failure. That I’ve failed. They’re good at it, too. These feelings use their own air of malevolent charm to trick me into buying their shitty perspectives.

They convince you that because they exist, they are correct. They convince you that because they exist, they are here for a reason. They have a message for you, it’s loud and it’s clear: you’re failing.

You’re being wrong. You’re doing wrong. You’re thinking wrong. Everything about you is just wrong. You’re on a slide leading irretrievably into worthlessness. That I'm failing.