I'm not going to get any sleep.
That's a sure thing I can tell you as of this moment.
My heart feels like it's hanging by a thread, a mere blood vessel. I don't want to think about that vessel bursting at any point in time.
My mom took the job up North, which means for the next 6 months I get to spend mulling over what the fuck I'm going to do with myself until December. I convinced myself that I could stay in Southern California independently, but that fact of the matter is: I don't have that kind of luxury right now.
I'm trying not to spend so much time thinking "Why oh, why did I have to slack off my junior year?" Then it leads to this whole Butterfly Effect thought process of: 1) If only I had not ditched class 2) My grades would have been better 3)I would have stayed away from troublesome company 4) I would have got accepted into a good college - or taken community college more seriously 5) I would have graduated on track with the rest of my classmates with my BA...alright, I'm just going to stop myself there.
Even though I could probably go on forever with could of would of should ov's... I'm not a complete moron. I'm wasting valuable optimum motivational energy wheras it is clearly being wasted on illogical pessimism. We'll save those kinds of stories for upcoming younger siblings that might need something to horrify them back onto track. Luckily, my younger cousins have been doing remarkable. Instead, they've been lighting a flame beneath me more than I think I ever have. I'm not going to shit myself, being the bad example doesn't have any glory in it whatsoever. On the other hand, I'd at least like to redeem myself for the sake of my own honor.
I never get to write like this. I spend so much time enthralled in my classes, and amazed by the minds surrounding me that I don't get to spend enough time with myself. I can't dissect my thought process as much as I used to. In my creative writing class I'm so easily amazed by the creativity, yet when I put myself into the position of being observed, I feel so mediocre. I still haven't been able to emcompass a conception of myself. I know who I am, but at the end of the day it feels almost as if that person wants a piece of solitude and I lose touch. Does that sound manic depressive? I know that I have always been split in between my heart and my mind. My mind asks for peace and my heart begs for relief. It's almost as if my heart knows it's never going to get cut a serious break, instead it wants some sort of tentative catharsis.
