Failure is everywhere. Success cannot be without the existence of failure, and true success is the sole result of effort and failure. It’s easy to be the big man on top of the world, but getting there is a different story. In today’s society, we’re scared of failure. That’s why participation awards and other accolades exist for those who simply ‘try’. ‘Trying’ and ‘Doing your best’ have become so instilled in our brains that we have lost connection with failure, and in doing so, we’ve lost connection with success. There are some people who are given everything in their lives. These are the people who do not know what it’s like to be knocked to the ground by life or have the wind knocked out of them by the cold, cruel world. They lack the experience of crawling back up, staggering over to life, and trying to take what’s theirs only to be thrown to the ground even harder—and what it’s like to repeat the vicious cycle over and over until they become successful. These people are a cancer to this world. Though these individuals may not know the meaning of failure, I have known failure first-hand, and my ongoing journey to success began on a cold December night.
     

She was the epitome of beauty, and I loved her with all my heart. (For her sake I’ll refer to her as X). X and I had been together for nearly six months. She was my first love, and I was hers. Before X, I’d never experience the sensation of love—of having someone by my side. Before X, I was alone in this world, wandering unaccompanied, yet with her, I became accustomed to the sensation of companionship. We were each other’s best friend; the bond between us had never been stronger. What we had created together was beautiful, as any young love is. However, with any creation of beauty, there will always be those who seek to mutilate it and breed hatred.
     

A single rumor was all it took. A lie created in the minds of the wicked drove my love from me and pushed me to the depths of damnation. I could not believe she would forsake me, but the hour of her departure was upon me. I fell from the top of the world to the fire pits of hell in an instant. The flourish of emotions that cascaded out of me began with hate. Trying to retaliate for the pain she had caused me, I lashed out at her. It was not long before I could not bear to hurt the one to whom my undying love belonged. Then, the fear began.

I was scared of losing her; I did not want to be alone in this world. The simple thought of losing her pushed me to the unrecoverable low of self-hatred. I was not worthy to live in the same world as X. In my mind, she was the beauty; I was the beast—a horrid, worthless brute who did not deserve life. With the clear image of self-destruction in my head, it seemed my fate was sealed. A lethal c***tail of sleeping pills and alcohol was the way my story was to end. With each gulp, I could feel myself entering an eternal sleep. My extremities became numb, my eyelids became heavy, and death loomed, waiting for his next victim. I was ready, but pearly gates did not await me.
     

 The next morning, I awakened in a hospital bed. This could not be real, I thought. Surely it couldn’t. But it was. As the doctor entered the room, I struggled to sit up, for I was still weak. According to him, I had ingested enough substance to be fatal for a man three times my size. The doctors had struggled to save me, and they did. My survival had been a miracle, but to me it was an unwanted miracle. I was furious—the angriest I’d ever been. My life as I knew was a failure. I had failed the one I loved, I had failed my family, and I had failed myself. My attempt at self-annihilation was the biggest failure of my life. It was not long after leaving the hospital that I tried again, feeling as more and more failure with each attempt. But with any great failure, there is success.

Right now, it’s been almost a year since that December night. In total, there were three attempts against my life. Sequentially they became less serious, as though I had less faith in death and, instead, believed in life. I had failed, but I was not a failure. I am no success either, for my journey is ongoing. I do not know true success, nor does anyone, in my belief. My journey began on a cold, December night, and the road from failure continues its long road to a destination unknown.