As it continued....

I am still in the stages of getting used to the waters here; it's hard to adjust from writing on a pleather (yes, pleather) bound, "gold"-leaved paged journal with a cloth page-marker. Ah, well.
I'm glad it's senior year. All the crap that I had to go though in gradeschool and at home and the stress of highschool cuminating into stress-indused IBS hopefully will be over. I want more freedom. No, scratch that, I NEED more freedom. Being at home is literally making me sick. I have to take a whole bunch of pills just to keep me sane. Otherwise I spiral into self destruction. Now that I have a job I feel more independent and at least get a break from routine, but I hope that it in the end it won't cause more unwanted pressure. It's all I can not to give up when the end is a faint light at the end of a dark tunnel. And this isn't melodrama, this isn't angst, this isn't some attention-seeking ploy, and this isn't bullshit. I am a can of coke with the pressure of metaphorical carbon dioxide held inside, ready to explode. I am the runner in the heat of a race, trying to make it through to the finish line, stumbling and falling along the way, and not caring whether I'm first or last. I am a bundle of confliction all nicely wrapped into a human being but decaying on the inside.
I can't keep bashing my head against the wall and fighting against the current of everyday life, but a certain prideful arrogance exists inside of me that contradicts the bullet-biting soldier that I try to hide. It's like I want to try to change things and trying to "win" at life while also wanting just to get everything done and over with. But I can't ever just let things go. I am who I am because of who I was. And who I was is not the person I want to be, but I am. And I wonder why I can't move on; I can't even move.