This is what failure looks like.

Sitting on my bathroom floor, with blood dripping down my arm. The pain that should have been present to begin with setting in.

I was lying down on a fountain. It was 3 am but that didn’t matter to my racing mind.

Back home, I looked in the mirror and didn’t feel the slightest connection to the tired woman looking back at me.

But now I’m back, and regretting what my body did while I was gone. That version of me doesn’t have to deal with the physical pain or the social consequences.

Nope, that part of me is the one with no use in my life, but for right now she’s in charge, and that’s what failure looks like.