Life Goals

Oh how time passes by. It must've been confusing for Khronos or whoever the fuck controls, interprets, divines time. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours, hours become a fucking day, and that day eventually is a year, both coming and going. It was a month or so ago that I asked her to cut me off, four or so months since my hedonism was forced to a halt, and it'll be days that I might be cut off from the general population. How time passes by, it was only a month ago that I sent in my college applications, and it'll be another few weeks before I take the tests that help define my money being well spent. In about twelve hours I'll have my first college interview, them not even having my test scores makes me feel confident, but that I don't really care too much for the school life, that makes me apprehensive. It's been a week since I finished a song, it's been half a year since I recorded one, it's been a month since I talked to my main producer, but that's what I'd rather do. In about sixty hours I'll be sitting in court for not the first, but the fifth of many times to come, waiting for my life to be decided, but do I even deserve to live the life I want is what I question sometimes. What happened four or so months ago, that spurned a routine that I've dreaded ever since it was born, has haunted me ever since. Has scared me ever since. Has marked me with what may be lurking, waiting to seize control. In this time I've also been cut off from most prior friends my age, and been cut off from most social interaction with those my age. Not to say I miss it much, I always preferred discussions with older crowds, but I yearn to be a dumbass again, to fuck around and laugh about it when it's over. Sometimes I wonder if those that still bother to talk to me resent me, did I tag them with my mark, and those that left if they miss me, if they've ever looked back. I guess I shouldn't look back either, what's done is done, this man has been made, and will burn for his crimes. Whether that's carried out by a court or my peers, I've yet to find out, and may never know for the latter. But what do I have to show? The three months I spent receiving "treatment?" The clean urine that I supposedly should be proud of? I'm not the one to decide but I feel I've more than served my penitence, that horrid place was worse than JDC, and I had to ask to stand up there. Maybe because I didn't feel lied to, and felt safer there. The only enjoyable month of the three was the second, and even that is tarnished. Any friends I made there I've yet to continue talking to, despite a few attempts. One of them was shot, and is now dead, increasing the count of people I feel I personally knew, that are now dead, to two. The only new friends I've made and continue to talk to are online, that I've never met in person, and except for one I find them to be asswipes. This is the life I've been reduced to. Even more I've been left to dreams that are impossible to interpret well, some of which I've had before. I'm eighteen and I got heart examinations because my body feels broken. I had a dream which implied death, even though I thought it was mine it might've been my friend, or my life as I knew it. I had a dream that led to me talking to a girl that I find fake, pretentious, and imposing, and used to have a crush on. Of course that light was relit, despite my disgust with her persona, possibly because I always have felt a draw towards girls with low self-esteem, an aspect of my darker side. When I was in JDC I had dreams of my father, every night, and I'd wake up not knowing where I was, having to remember everyday that I fucked up, remember everyday that I can't sleep in my own bed anymore and I don't deserve to. Most of all though, I've had dreams as if I was on the same cocktail that put me in this position, people didn't speak but words came out of their mouths, I'd wakeup feeling as if I ate a handful of muscle relaxers, I'd wakeup remembering that this is the reality that I live in now. These next few weeks will decide what the next few years will be. Will I be in college, in jail, at home, or on the road, or in a new existence entirely. I won't know for awhile, and despite hopes, my expectations are dirt low. I haven't hit rockbottom, I'm still floating on the waves, but sometimes that sandbar makes me think it's closer than it is. Fear has been such a foreign concept to me for a long time, but I now know what fear is. Fear that my life won't be mine for much longer. If I do go away, I feel like I'll never come back, mentally or physically. That feeling deep inside, that the inner animal just wants to bark and howl, but gets muzzled. When that muzzle breaks, I'm done. I'll rot for life.