Failure, Or: De Ja Vu All Over Again

Things haven't been going so well for me. When the tough times stretch into long periods, it becomes more and more difficult for me to see clearly, and deal with frustrations the way 'normal' people do. As tension rises, I gather it inside me. Tornadoes rage, and little storms erupt. But eventually something will set me off, and I self-destruct.

I've done it again, and for an hour it felt good. It always does~for that hour.

There's a decision-making process involved, I guess. I hit a point of no-return and somewhere inside my head, I know it's going to happen and there's not a force on earth that's going to stop me. The crisis, the decision, the act. Why? Because as sick as it is, it gives me relief, for that hour; the relief I can't seem to find anywhere else. I'm focused, diligent. The door is locked, everything is laid out. The pain feels exquisite. Yes, exquisite~for a while. The tension that's been driving me wild dissipates~for a while. The defining phrase in my life could be, "for a while".

And then the shame sets in. Inevitably, my husband will have come and checked the door at some point, and walked away. He doesn't knock, or ask to come in. He just knows. He never questions or asks why. But then again, he doesn't need to. I ask the questions myself, and I can't answer them.

And as good as it feels when I do it, the shame is just as bad.

Failure is as failure does. It would appear I'm going to feel like shit, one way or another.