I was born in a pretty wealthy family, since both of my parents are doctors. They have given me every opportunity in the world to do what I want, as long as I work hard at it and it provides for me. Yet, they all are squandered. I started an instrument in 4th grade, was good, stopped practicing from 9th grade onwards, and gave up. Waste of money. I went to good schools, got As, bombed 11th grade (the year for college applications), didn’t recover as well for next year. My parents filled out so many parts of my college applications for me, worked so hard to make sure my essays were good. I left to college with renewed optimism, only to isolate myself and not go to classes for almost the whole semester. Lied to them, thinking I had learned, would fix the issue, they would never find out. They did, and they gave me one more chance. Next semester, again, did almost the same thing. My father won’t speak to me, my mother is on antidepressants, and they still give me one more chance. Do well on summer classes. Then we’ll see about one more chance about a semester at college. Not doing the best at summer classes right now, but they don’t know. This is happening while they are stressed about the money problems I am causing. I have brothers that also have to go to college, we are moving while selling the house at a loss, costly repairs are being done to the house. My parents are stressed and now fighting because of me, and my brothers aren’t making it easier with their angry attitudes. I am singlehandedly ruining my nuclear family’s life, and I’m still finding it difficult to change. I still procrastinate to the point of lateness, I still wake up late, after days of my mother helping me, motivating me, waking me up with milk in the morning. After her pleading so many times, after seeing the consequences of my actions so many times… I still do the same crap. I am a cancer, a sickness, a defective persona that shouldn’t exist. I may not kill people, but I cause enough emotional and financial pain that I wish I had never existed. I wish I didn’t have an addictive personality, I wish I had a greater work ethic… but every time I do, I feel like that person that comes out won’t be me. It’ll be a different, better person, and despite all I’ve done and not done, I don’t want to be replaced like that. I would rather just have not existed. I can’t kill myself because that will only hurt the living more, but I can’t antimeme myself either. I am weak. None of my friends know. I still get online and talk to them while playing game that I should be avoiding. I still read the books that I should be avoiding, for fear of addiction resurging again. I am a fool, an unchanging fool, and a curse on my family. I am an investment that still exists because of hope of others, but where is my own? It only appears for the 15 minutes after my mother monologues at me, and then it turns to wisps in the wind. F***.