The curious case of being a failure

This is a sad story. A story of despair.

A curious story of....Being A FAILURE!


Marvin Boyd Fogbottom had a problem with people, paranoia, and his own self confidence all of his 38 years. Marvin Boyd Fogbottom also had a complex problem with words and their meaning too. Well, maybe just a few words anyway, but those few random words could turn him into a quivering blob of ectoplasmic jelly. It was more than a phobia, it was an obsession.

Last Saturday, Boyd was out with a few friends from work when one of those 'words' slinked out of nowhere and jarred him into the 'inner place' again. The blatant word caused him to have yet another anxiety attack which he fought valiantly to contain so his friends wouldn't be unaware of the tumoil that retched at his soul. This attack seemed to be a little worse than the others. This one caused him to sweat, allow his mouth to go dry, and turn pale.

The 'Failure to Yield' sign looked innocuous enough. It was near the curb and painted the standard DOT yellow. The metal pole it attached to had some rust and scrapes, but it was just a simple street sign. But yet, the word 'failure' seemed to burn into Boyd's brain as he shut his eyes against the yellow glare.

Yes, that horroble word failure there for all to see. He knew his friends secretly laughed about him inside themselves and he just knew they thought of him when they glanced at that sign. His fists tensed and his lip quivered.

Yes, it was the word failure that was drummed constantly into his head as a kid by an overbearing parent. Failure this and failure that. Failure to be popular. Failure to be good looking. Failure to not be a failure. Yes, failure to yield was just another reason and another reminder.

Yesterday, another mysterious word presented itself that caused him to be physically sick and to become convoluted within himself. Again, it caused him to vist 'that inner place' he turned to when things closed in around him. He felt peace there. Alone and cold, yet comforted with his control over his fears. No one coul find him there, It was his place and his alone. The crying stopped there. The voices within were subdued and silent.

The simple sign on the Palace Theater in downtown looked innocent enough...'No Talent Show Today!' Yes, another reminder. Only this 'reminder' was about his lack of talent.
Yes, his lack of any perceivable talent made him look just like that 'Failure to Yield' only it was failure to have any true talents.

It reminded him of when he was 18 years and living at home. He practiced on his musical instruments constantly and had certain rock and roll numbers down to perfection, only to showcase his hard earned talents in a shamble of wrong notes, dropped chords, and mistakes when anyone was present to witness his abilities.
Again, failure and now, no talent. He vomited behind a trash can and wiped the remains on his sleeve arm.

Today was the last straw for Boyd. While passing a newstand on his way to his part-time hotel job, Boyd caught the word 'asshole' in a magazine headline.

'Asshole? They know. They're calling me an asshole openly now' His mind raced back to his familiar comfort zone of paranoia. People's faces turned to hard stone as they glance his way.

He pulled his coat collar up as to shield his face from the wind, but in his mind he was using the collar to hide behind. Away from the stares. Hidden from cold eyes that could see what he didn't want others to see.

They passed by as if cushioned on fog, he could hear them talking, though they appeared silent. They stared. They mocked. He knew they knew. They always knew. He avoided the eyes and walked straight. In a few moments he could find his 'inner place' and be calm, at home, and away from eyes and thoughts.

Ahead he spotted a bench near the park entrance. It was sheilded from view by bushes and low tree limbs. A perfect spot to sit and think. A perfect spot to find the 'inner place.'

A day passed before anyone realized he was in need of help. The police were summoned and medical help rushed him to the hospital. He appeared dead, but he wasn't. Doctors claimed he died years ago in his mind, but his body functioned onward.

Alone in the institution's psych ward Boyd sat motionless on the thin mattress staring ahead and not moving. His eyes showed only blankness, but deep within there were waves of laughter that would reverberate forever as the door at last closed on his 'inner place.'