[silenceinspace.]

I could quite literally just lay down and die, right now.

For as long as I can remember, I've been a writer...I'll say it's been at least a decade. It's a passion; it's a compulsion. But the problem is that, like any compulsion, you can't ignore it. It makes you sick if you do.

And so inevitably I return to writing, no matter what I'm doing or supposed to be doing. I would write in blood if I ran out of ink. It's how I define myself.

But because writing comes before other things, I have failed so, so many times. I had a full scholarship to high school; I lost it, largely due to a terrible, abusive relationship. I'm currently in college, and I'm paying for it myself. I left my last job, perhaps foolishly, because I made a fair amount of money, but I had to work overnight in a dangerous neighborhood. (Dangerous like people got kicked to death outside of my work.) And now at my new job, I make very little money. Not enough to even pay for college.

I live at home with my parents, and we literally never stop fighting, mostly because we can't stand each other. We're actually a lot better than we used to be, but general dislike isn't something that can really be dealt with. There are so many causes. Money (they paid for my sister to go to an Ivy League university, but can't/won't pay for me to go to community college), goals (they never like any of my plans but suggest impractical alternatives), and God knows what else. I'm taking six classes this semester, and I can't bring myself to give a fuck about any of them, so I'm doing shitty in all of them. Again. All I do is worry about money. It's literally making me sick.

Quite honestly, I don't know if I'm depressed or not. I know that based on what I've said, it sounds like it, but frankly I don't see why I wouldn't be feeling like shit, based on everything that's happening right now. I don't want to live another fucking day like this. I can't.