This is where it ends.

I've hit the fucking academic wall.
I have no motivation to do this now beside the quasi-fear of having to stick around for another year but really, honestly, what the fuck?
Who cares?
If someone walked up to me and said "I failed a course at school" it would have absolutely no effect on ME whatsoever.
Well, i might feel bad for you, cause it does suck, but it's not the end of the world. It doesn't define you as a person. If I've learned ANYTHING at all from all this reading that's been crammed down my throat, it's that you make you.
You decide what you will do, and what you won't do.
Sometimes those convictions get you martyred.
Sometimes those convictions get you glory.
The important thing is to have them.
So fuck school, man. (Well, not completely, cause as I've said before I like learning...probably more than is good for me. Like it interferes with my life, I get so wound up on some stuff.)
Fuck living my life in fear of getting an "F".
Einstein's parents thought he was retarded cause he didn't start talking until he was like, what, 6? And he changed the course of fucking history, he changed the way we look at the world.
Maybe it takes failure to achieve success. Much like you have no concept of happiness until you've suffered through despair.
So you know what? If my parents want to be upset about me failing something, let them. You be my guest worrying about that crap. If I disappoint you, or you feel like I've wasted your time and money then I'm genuinely sorry that your definition of education is so limited.
I honestly did not think I would arrive arrive at this point in my life.
I've got about 500 words to go and I'll finally be done and an essay that was due on Mon.
Another was due yesterday, and one today.
As of right now, none are completed.
AND I DON'T CARE.
hear me world?
I really don't. Life's too short to not do what moves you.
If felt so stifled for so long about being creative. Like it's not allowed cause it doesn't make money and it's so subjective.
Artist = Bum for so long in my mind, but slowly and surely that has been supplanted by Artist = hero.
Artists are the fucking heros of the world. People with vision and conviction, RESOLVE, to follow those visions come hell or high water.
They are the people who alter the course of lives.
So that's what I'm going to do.
I'm going to start encouraging myself to create something each day. Food, write something, take pictures, make a collage, something. Doesn't matter what. Just as long as it's something from ME.
Because I'm a reflection of YOU, and the past, and all the people who existed so I might exist.
And I absolutely refuse to not live my life to it's potential in their honour.
I refuse to allow myself to be marginalized. If you're publication doesn't want my writing, I'll send it elsewhere. If no one wants to publish it, I'll publish it myself if it comes to that.
If no one wants to take a chance on my concepts for books, then I'll create them myself. (How, I don't know, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there.)
I've accepted my singularity, and am resolved to enjoy it.
Essays are not what I love to create...but I will. Begrudingly, for now
Only a few more months of this yoke, and I can breath properly.
FUCK...I wish I could wander the world, cataloging everthing before it dissapears forever...seeing the remains of worlds that came thousands of years before. I want to know everything....everything. Being here, doing this seems so small. So miniscule to what could be done with this time.
Where's home when you need it?
-Jess

Please, please, please...just keep going.
It would be so nice to accomplish something instead of always leaving things half done.

~I don't buy everything I read, I havn't even read everything I've bought, I don't cry everytime I bleed, my eyes are dry but they're bloodshot, I have faith in medication, I believe in the prozac nation, you play doctor but I've lost patience, this is where it ends, this is where it ends/ Call the police and call the press, but please dear god don't tell my friends, this is where it ends, this is where it ends/ Where's my pride, where's my self esteem, and does it show in the drinks I've bought? I don't hide everytime I'm seen, but I try not to get caught, make excuses for behaviour, can my illness be my saviour? hid my heart while you still gave yours, this is where it ends, this is where it ends/ Call the police and call the press but please dear god don't tell my friends, this is where it ends, this is where it ends/ She says she wants to live in a movie, I say I want someone else to stand behind me and write it all down 'cause I can't be bothered doing it myself, and I don't want the responsability of proving it's importance...I have loved and I have waited, been picked up and been sedated, Mental health is overrated, This is where it ends, this is where it ends/ Call the police and call the press but please dear god don't tell my friends. This is where it ends. This is where it ends. ~