Half an hour ago I wasn't in any condition to start a blog. My best friend since freshman year, Emily, told me she was done. With me that is. She's done with me "wasting [her] time and energy." When I told her all along to give up trying to help me, I've finally hurt her enough to leave her no choice but to be finished with me. I'm irresponsible. I always have been. I've been told I'm never going to change; I've been told I shouldn't want to change. Because on one hand I am everything I hate: lazy, hypocritical, selfish, apathetic. And then there are the things I'm so proud of myself for:

 

Completely sober: absolutely completely free from any type of drugs, by choice, because I don't want to hurt myself. Understanding: When someone has something to say I listen and tell my ego to shut the fuck up for awhile. I know it's never about me. Calm: Nothing from the past can stress me out, it's over and done with. Talented: When I'm focused, I can write like I'm aiming for a Pulitzer. I'm blessed with an understanding of language that goes beyond what I can get from just practice. So I know I at least have my love of linguistics to hold me up when I'm sinking.

 

But here are my fears: I'm going to live out my life as a failure. I'm going to push my friends away. I'm going to freeload off my parents for life. I'm going to lose my sanity completely, try to kill myself, and end up in an asylum. I'm going to have a child, and neglect it. I'm going to continuously let down everyone who loves me, over and over again, until I hate myself so much I curl up " 'neath the halo of a streetlamp", and let myself rot.