I failed

I failed in this country.

I say this without beating around the bush, without any embellishment.

I never truly came close to what is called living humanely. I failed to love. I failed to be loved. I failed to exist without hurting someone. The state of living life with joy was never real for me. Most of the time, living was nothing more than enduring.

I failed to work. I failed to hold on. I failed to build a steady life. I never had insurance. I failed to feel safe. I never managed to be carefree. Anxiety was never a temporary state for me; it settled in, stayed, and turned into a habit.

I failed to sleep peacefully at night. And to wake up with a sense of security in the morning. The idea of the future was never exciting for me. There was always an uncertainty, always an apprehension. No matter how hard I tried, this feeling never went away.

I failed to remain silent. And to speak properly. I knew when I should have stayed silent, but when I did, things accumulated inside me. And when I spoke, I was misunderstood or not heard at all. I failed to speak the same language as other people. I failed to conform to what is called normal.

I talked to cats, to dogs. I failed at not talking to them, too.

What I mean by "I failed" here is not individual failures. It is the weight of everything that collapsed upon me while trying to live in this country. It is having been unable to adapt. To have failed to normalize. To constantly feel deficient. To constantly be not enough.

I failed in this country. And in saying this, I make no claim; I am simply stating the fact.

I never really managed to paint, either…