I cut school today again. I blame the senioritis and my parents who are (un)fortunately overbearingly supportive. 
I spent the day in bed, feeling quite frail. Not physically, but mentally. I wallowed in internal turmoil and stress, my mind so drained I could not even retreat to my safe space of imaginary worlds and original characters in intricate plot lines.

What's the fuss, you might be wondering. There's none at all, actually. Except the fact that I feel utterly and completely lost. 

I'm 17, pushing 18, months away from graduating highschool, yet I have no direction in life. I have no passion that's capable of becoming a stable career, no talent that makes me stand out and special. I'm average on good days, and the only quality I'm prideful about is my ability to plaster on smiles during hard times and live in the moment. 

The future scares me and is it somewhat sad and pathetic that I'm ranting on a blog post no one will probably read? Perhaps. Definitely. Yes. 

I guess this is my little call for help. A desperate request for guidance on a platform filled with creative minds and hopefully others who emphasize.

My questions are...

How do I commit to a career path I'm aware won't bring me joy, is exceptionally hard, and will most likely break me? 

How do I navigate the world and seek opportunities when I'm hindered financially?

How do I keep on fighting for a place in this world when I'm so tired?

How do I manage the responsibilities bestowed upon me to become a vessel for my family into a better life?

How do I feel less alone? How do I feel understood and cared for?

Questions, questions, questions I know I'll never find the answer to. 

It's a tough world. For some more than others, and I'm so relentlessly grateful for the things I have. Yet, I have my bad days and my own personal rainclouds. 

It just irks me that I'm always ready and willing to stick my hand out and help others navigate, control, and ease their emotional turmoil, yet I'm left to cry into my pillow at 3am. 

I'm undiagnosed but I guess I have a savior complex. Anyone else relate?

It's funny. It's funny how the closest people to me in my life are never able to guess what's going through my mind, but I always steal the words from their mouths.

I give more than I'll ever receive. That is why I write stories about female characters who receive love, who have money, who are constantly reassured that they're special and cared for. 

Reality is tough, and I am God in my stories. That is why my characters never face realistic struggles. 

The gist of it is...I've been doing a little reflecting to ease my pent up stress and anxiety. 

I'm so attached to my stories, to the worlds I've built, and to my characters solely because they are a distraction. They are perfect people, after all. 

I don't know if this is healthy for my mental health. 

Last question. 

Is it wise for me to stop writing? Is it time I live and focus on reality instead of escaping into my imagination?