The outbursts come and go as I dance around in circles contemplating my fate. Without outside input the human mind will always reach a point of null progress on any matter, given enough time.

My world will change in 9 days. I haven't the right to tamper with someone else's world because of this fact.
Fear of accomplishment is a common malady of my highschool dropout drug abusing ilk.
Lack of reinforcement?
Absence of role model?
Low self esteem?

Irrelavent.

I'm finally doing something good for myself, and all too approriate.
PA tells me as I blow this last line of coke that I'm making momma proud.
I'm still overcome by the irony even 20 minutes later.

I don't like this method of celebration, and I certainly wouldn't endorse it. I'm finally realizing that good feelings need to be won and earned, but not purchased. It's a false celebration to me. I reguard it not unlike mourning, but I haven't lost myself.

Perhaps it is by 'finding' myself, by initiating progress, that I can see just how low I've been. I've been aiming too low for too long, stead in my belief that looking up causes one to lose perspective. Here I am facing change by walking backwards, as if my memories will cease to exist, as if it's like diving into a pool and once I'm under I'll never see the surface again. I'm scared shitless because even when I was in the gutter I still had something to hold onto. It was a shameful existance but it still had consistencies which are what we all come to depend on.

Choices scare me. My recruiter told me that Nov. 17th will be the first day of the rest of my life. I refuse to mourn the last days of the first of my life.