text: I'm not a writer but I've always entertained writing about my life and my experiences. I like this alot, what do you guys think? Edit: changed some things. I roll over sluggishly, trying to find my phone that somehow always finds its way into the pillowy waves of my comforter. Without my glasses I search aimlessly, patting the sheets, looking for my phone. I find it half buried undernearh my girlfriends leg. Pulling it out from under the covers, the screen blinds me. 4:53AM. Fuck. This has been happening to me alot lately. I have a dream in which i die; always in different ways, but always by the hand of someone i love. I dont believe dreams are profound or anything and normally dont give them much attention. This one bothers me though, keeping me up. I keep trying to interpret some kind of meaning from it aside from the very obvious. I lay awake in bed with Emily, my girlfriend, next to me. While i try to remember every detail of the dream i lose myself staring at the ceiling. The fan flicks shadows upon the walls of my bedroom, illuminated only by the blue lightbulb from my lamp in the corner. Emily calls it the omnious lamp. It sits alone in the corner of my room casting a dim blue light eerily across it, yet somehow, the glow is relaxing. Its almost as if the light was a metaphor for the inevitable end that was staring me down, and for some reason i relax in it. The thing is i never get to really relax. My anxiety makes sure of that, and if it weren't the anxiety, it would be the paranoia. Its almost six am now and my mind is numb from replaying my Shakespearean demise over and over. I get up and go to the living room hoping that looking out over the city with a cigarette will ease my mind. I stumble around the living room looking for my pack and a lighter. Theres still lines cut up on the coffee table from last night. The ashtray is full of cigarette butts and roaches, my half empty pack laying next to it. I light up my smoke and inhale. I hate it, but i instantly feel calmer, if only for a few minutes. Disgusting habit i picked up back in highschool right around the time i started drinking and smoking pot. Not much has changed since then. My first taste of this lifestyle came shortly after that. I would sell some pot to my friends and occasionally we would come across some blow and geek out for the night. That was almost ten years ago now. All those years i was selling i said i would get out and grow up, find a job and move on with my life. Last week i turned twenty-five and im still here supplying this campus of depraved trust fund kids looking to piss off their parents with whatever drug they will crush, snort, eat, smoke or inject. Im in the process of trying to leave this life. Its catching up to me. The anxiety from looking over my shoulder is becoming debilitating. I cant sleep anymore. Im not happy. Im depressed and exhausted from putting on this facade. Everything is spiraling, i no longer have a grasp on my life. Its like ive fallen into a narrative with a vindictive author, hell bent on seeing me get mine . My luck is running out and i need to be gone when it finally does. This is my story.