Born to Fail by Rena Bergeron
Maybe but I wasn’t about to die without swinging.
I almost died. In a bathtub. Real talk.
But then I remembered… I still had to save Noopy.
Hi. I’m RB Rouge
Labeled:
Complex PTSD , …addicted and certified crazy.
Retired hairdresser.
Author. Illustrator.
Former fugitive from responsibility.
I wear my crazy like a badge of honor, cause fuck I earned it as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve spent most of my life in therapy, rehab, or court-ordered character development.
And look, I’ve learned a lot.
But the real breakthrough?
Quantum Physics, & Computer Programming awakened me to the infinite possibilities life holds:
We’re all programmable.
— by your parents, your town, your trauma… even Walmart.
Whether you know it or not, you’ve been programmed since birth…
I had a rough upbringing.
I’ve been broken more times than a Dollar Store umbrella in hurricane season.
My momma used to hang me from the ceiling fan and beat me like a piñata…
Only difference is, piñatas get candy. I got life lessons and a record.
But somehow… I’m still here.
Drawing my nightmares.
Animating my trauma.
And turning all this madness into something my grandkids can be proud of —
Or at least something they can show their therapist one day.
This is my million-dollar comeback tour.
My revenge arc against rock bottom.
I’m proving you can lose your mind, your house, your dignity —
And still build an empire with a pencil and a Wi-Fi connection.
Stick around.
Subscribe.
I’m either making a million dollars…
Or becoming a cautionary tale.
Either way?
You win.
If I can come back from overdoses, losses, jail cells, shame spirals, and mental meltdowns,
So. Can. You.
You are not your mugshots.
You are not your trauma.
You are not the version of you that broke under pressure.
You are what rose from the wreckage.
You are what survived.
So get up.
Build something.
Speak your truth.
Start messy and stay honest.
Make art from your ashes.
And leave a legacy louder than your past.
Because the truth is—
I did some degenerate shit.
Now I’m doing something divine.
And this?
This is just the beginning.
With every ounce of my wild, sacred, swamp-born soul,
—RB Rouge
(AKA Slick. AKA Irena. AKA Re-Na. AKA the one who never stayed down.)
If you made it this far…
You’ve walked with me through the daiquiris, the drag queens, the death curse.
You’ve seen me black out, click out, fall out, and nearly tap out.
You’ve heard about the bathtub. The hurricane. The Walmart bans.
You’ve seen the bloodline blues run deep.
You’ve seen how many times I could’ve died—and how many times I didn’t.
But more than anything, I hope you’ve seen this:
I’m still here.
And if I’m still here, then you can be too.
To my babies—my kids, my grandkids, and the ones still on their way:
This is yours now.
This story.
This truth.
This legacy.
You don’t have to wonder who Maw Maw Rena was.
You don’t have to dig through rumors or whispers or censored family folklore.
It’s all here.
The ugly. The beautiful. The divine and the degenerate.
The curse and the cure.
Because I want you to know something deep in your bones:
You come from a long line of chaos—but you also come from miracles.
And no matter how far off the map you wander, you’re never too far gone to find your way back.
I know what it feels like to be the black sheep, the outcast, the mess they whisper about.
But I also know what it feels like to be chosen—by God, by grace, mud-lit— Bayou Proof,…still rising anyway, in spite of all the odds.
So don’t hide your story.
Don’t bury your light just because it shines through cracked places.
Let the world see how you glowed in the dark.
And when life breaks your heart—and baby, it will—don’t let it turn you bitter.
Let it make you braver.
So what does legacy look like?
It looks like this book in your hands.
It looks like a woman who used to overdose in bathtubs, now teaching kids how to draw their feelings.
It looks like cartoons made in the swamp.
It looks like truth-telling, curse-breaking, loud-laughing, root-digging redemption.
It looks like me.
It looks like you, if you’re ready.
Because if I’ve learned one thing on this hell ride of a life, it’s this:
You are not your past.You are the author now.
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