Live Or Die, It's All The Same

Have you ever had a feeling like you just want to forget everything? All your feelings and the things you once did?

That's how I feel now. And I don't mean to moan, but it's getting me down. My friends, my lying, cruel, nasty friends, couldn't give a damn. It's funny, because I've told them both, yet neither of them knew what I was talking about when I brought it up again. They don't listen. And right now all I need is someone to listen to me. I need someone to hold me as I cry and tell me it's alright. But not them. Never them. I've lost every ounce of trust I ever had in anyone because of their lies. I can't tell anyone anything anymore. I can't hear what people say and believe it without question. I have to think seriously about it before I even consider it being true.

I know who I want to talk to, but I never have the chance. I keep seeing him around school. Every day, and every day it pulls my stomach into knots and my heart into my mouth. And every time I see him lately, he has an expression on his face of sadness. I've never seen him sad before. He's drifting further and further away from me. He was my best friend. Now I don't even know what to get him for Christmas. And it would never work anyway, why would it? He's nearly eighteen, for god's sake, and I'm not sixteen yet.

I feel so young and stupid and immature, and every time I write something like this, which I realise I do way too often, I feel stupid. But you Opussians are the only people who listen now. I don't know any of you, but you're all better than my friends.

I suppose I've realised now that my life is already set out for me, ready for me to live it without having a choice in the matter. This is how I imagine it:

I'll do my GCSE's and do worse than I need to get into sixth form at my school.
I'll go to a college an hour away where they don't do the courses I want, but they'll take you no matter how bad your grades are.
I'll do a two year course in media that I never wanted to do.
Under-qualified, I'll move to a seedy part of London and get a damp little flat barely big enough to live in.
I'll get a low-paid job in some shop or office, working long hours with little thanks.
I'll meet some friends, oddballs, lowlifes and castaways like me.
We'll go out every night and get drunk to forget.
I'll be introduced to some narcotic substance and get addicted.
I'll spend months of my life fighting the addiction and trying to get back to normal.
I'll finally get back to how I used to be, and try to live a happier life.
Just when it seems things are getting better, I'll take a turn for the worse.
I'll be found in my room after a night out, dead, through suicide, accidental overdose, or alcohol poisoning.

Maybe it's sad that this is the only life I can imagine for myself. But if I don't sort myself out and get good grades now, it's the life I'm going to be living. I say I have no choice in the matter. But maybe I do. If I can get myself off the path I'm on, the path of depression and scars and fear of everything, maybe I can life a happy life. A good life. Maybe.