It's 8:14pm. Right now, nothing seems interesting. I am an uninteresting guy. Lately I feel like most of the things I've been doing show no promise. In that way, everything seems useless. What am I to do with this? Am I supposed to figure out why this is? I think it's my brain's way of telling me I'm supposed to be working on my passion, my true passion. I'm supposed to be writing. The days drag on, but they go so quickly. Already it's been 10 years since being 17. I'm 27 now, and in this time usually people have full careers, children, or are becoming who they are truly meant to become. I have none of those things, I feel as if I was cursed to die at a younger age. Now, I sit here rotting in my cage of flesh, preparing to lose my mind, numbing myself with alcohol until I realize that I am in fact a walking disease. Nothing will save me from myself, I have to crawl out from the depths of hell biting through mountains of teeth and skin to salvation. I will be saved and I will do it myself.
ITS NEVER TOO LATE you still have like 15 more years until you’re bones start giving up on you
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