It’s exam time for my junior year in college, and I’ll most likely get everything done last minute as per usual, but I’m very tired of the routine and direction my life is heading.
I basically go to school so I have a place to live that isn’t my parents house, draw and write in the between time. I have little substantial passion exempt the girl I’m in love with right now and passing sporadic interests in art and psychedelics. It’s basically a long distance relationship, which was regrettably the same as my last relationship that ended horribly with lost ambitions and suicidal thoughts. I drank myself into oblivion and forfeited any sexual activity for the greater half of the year. I don’t let on how bad it is to my current partner…like how I still look at some of our old AIM conversations and a journal I made in her memory.
I don’t feel as beautiful as I did as little as a year ago, and my ability to create has diminished. I got accepted into an innovative writing college last summer and fucked up that because I couldn’t pay for it, simultaneously fucking things up with the girl I loved most in the world. All in all, it was a lot of bullshit that happened way too quickly. I also got kicked out of my house and didn’t have a secure home for about two months. All these problems go in cycles, though, because I believe I’m manic depressive. There are times I feel like I could swallow the world, and Â others when I feel like I’m the laziest, dumbest cockroach on Earth. This is just one of those low times, I guess.
The girl I love now loves me and treats me kindly, unlike the girl I was with before, but I feel like there’s a recurring theme going on, even though I haven’t met her yet. She doesn’t want to be involved in anything longterm with me, which is a problem, because I have the distinct sensation that my presence for a week will be something magical and sensational for her, but also something she won’t have to commit to beyond seven days and leave me in the same shambles I felt this August. I feel as though the conversations we’ve shared as friends over the phone – how she helped me when I was feeling suicidal before and brought life back into parts of me I thought burned away a long time ago – are some of the most important parts of my life. Despite this, I feel horrible, because I still think of the girl who burned me all the time. I’ll enjoy the next week and literally treat those days like my last ones on earth, because they very well might be. The complications regarding my will to live aren’t as simple as the romantic problems I face in relationships.
Every day I wake up I feel very disconnected from the world- a place where people hope to get money, a job, and social capital. Everything’s related to some sort of duty or obligation that has very little to do with passion or love. They all want the same thing, and I don’t want to be a part of that tired cycle. I dream of a life outside of a creature comforts and a stable source of employment. I feel like there’s something so big in life that I just can’t see because of the way I grew up. I feel a great anomie and little purpose in going about life in this lethargic routine. And I know people will tell me it doesn’t have to be a routine, but this is just the way it is and has always been for me.
This girl, we’ll car her B., is my one connection outside of that. I mostly enjoyed my childhood and the teenage years weren’t so bad in retrospect. I’m thinking that after this week is over, I’ll make a short bucket list, get all the failed poetry and writings I ever made, and kill myself in some easy, painless way. I’m thinking a handgun, but if there’s any cheaper way I’m up for it. My death doesn’t have to be sad. I can see all my friends, have a good time, and listen to some good tunes up to the moment I die. I want to die young, having the very best day in my life.
Nothing is permanent anyways. Most likely, I’m not going to earn my current girlfriend’s desire for longevity, and school holds a limited interest in my heart. I’ve done my share to be a good samaritan, a patron of the arts, and artist (if only somewhat), and denizen of this planet. I’ve had sex, done a wealth of drugs, and been in love. WhatÂ else is there?Â I think I’m ready to go.