I am only 20. But I was always going to die before the age of 30 because I didn't think I would trust myself after that. Nor did I feel I had the equipment to handle the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The dishes. The phone bills. The trips to the pharmacy. Nights alone, sleepless. Nights alone, drunk. Television. Success. Jealousy. Failure. Inadequacy. Grief. Regret.
Better to die young, when you still have potential.
Bullshit. Bullshit leaking from my ears, nipping at my heels like a small obnoxious dog. Bullshit dragging me from excuse to excuse. Escape escapes escaping.
I knew nothing when this frame of mind solidified. I know even less now. I feel smaller, no longer choking on my self-importance. I am not Arthur Rimbaud. And I like the small bits of living. I plan to continue it for as long as possible.