My Deepest, Dearest Fear,

 I’m writing to you today to ask for some space. I think we’ve spent more than enough time together, and I wish for a change of scenery. This relationship is only benefiting you; that’s not fair to me. I deserve to look at my life without the thought of you dampening my visions. You’ve had a chokehold on me for the past twenty-three years, always showing me how the things I desire are out of reach because I won’t make it—taunting me with whispers, begging me to fall for you. I’m tired of listening to you.

 Failure, you are the worst thing to come into my life. In high school, I prided myself on my grades. My academic achievements were the most important thing to me. You took that from me. Your wicked whispers finally overcame me in my second year of college, pushing me to an academic suspension. Do you know how much that hurt? Do you know what that did to me, Failure? Well, let me tell you. It filled me with embarrassment; I began comparing myself to those around me ten times as much as I had done beforehand.  

 I looked at my three siblings and watched them flourish from the bottom of the barrel that I had come to call my home. I lived in you, Failure—you had me convinced that this was my destiny, that I wouldn’t succeed in anything in life. You’re a stain of shame that no Tide Stick is capable of removing from the front of my best white shirt. It feels as though people look at me, but only see that dark, aching stain on my shirt. I hide you from people, Failure; I’m embarrassed by what they might think of you. What if your presence in my life affects how others perceive me? Will they look at what you’ve brought me to do in my academics and discredit everything I’ve learned? Will they think less of me? I don’t want to worry about their thoughts, but you’ve made me hyperaware of them. 

 I will tell you one positive thing that you have done for me, Failure. You have pushed me so far down to the deepest depths of a depression that I built the stamina to climb back up. That Associate’s Degree that you stole from me? I got it. Now? I’m working on finishing my Bachelor’s. Your hand has been wrapped around my throat for too long. I’m so sick of what you’ve done to my life. Even now, you creep in the corner of my visions, reminding me of when I caved to you. I felt you pulling on me last semester, begging me to curl up in your arms again. I’ll tell you what. I refuse to be yours. 

 I’m breaking up with you. It’s not me. It’s you. I’m destined for great things. I want to live in a world where I achieve my goals, not one where you rip them away from me. I want the air I breathe to be light on my lungs. I want to finish this damn degree and get a job where I can help people. You may have stained the clothes I once wore, but I’ve grown to wear new clothes—clothes that better fit me. I am going to take you out of my life because I don’t want you here. 

 Let me rephrase what I said in the opening of this letter. I’m tired of asking you to leave. I demand space. When I’m studying for classes, I don’t want to see you. When I’m working to afford my rent, I don’t want to see you. When I’m walking across the stage, diploma in hand, I don’t want to see you. I’ve worked so hard on myself in the past three years for you to take this all away from me. I’ve created a relationship with myself that has continued to strengthen each and every day. 

 So, let this be the last time you hear from me, Failure. I want nothing to do with you anymore. Being scared of you has done nothing but bring me closer to you, and my biggest goal is to get the furthest away from you that I possibly can.

May you never have a chokehold on anyone else as tight as you once did me. 

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