Game Over.

I gross myself out. I am rotting. Unmotivated turns to laziness turns to unused muscles lost into the depths of fat. Water is like poison and food is tasteless. Is this a side-effect of depression? My organs have been twisting and is giving me problems. My lungs are damage and does not allow me to breathe properly. I have once again spilled 208 degrees F of water on my hand again, I've been doing this everyday for at least two weeks, not on purpose and I get frustrated when it happens. It's not the hot water that enrages me, it is the hot water mixed with honey spilled onto my hands that I have just washed that bothers me. So far what I have accomplished this year is getting some sort of income from some under the table job. That's it. I haven't drawn anything, I haven't meditated much, exercises consists of two-five minute stretches, I haven't tried hard enough to remember my dreams so my lucid and astral work is meaningless, and I haven't even read a damn book in half a year. I keep hallucinating maggots, wasps, roaches crawling into my ears! This is obviously not a good symbol in any way. Argh. Frustration. Disappointment. Why is this happening? Because I've spent ten years looking for a job to help out my mother only for her to tell me I'm selfish and lazy every time she gets to talk to me about it? Because I've become jaded of this work? Microbiology is a dream that I no longer have the motivation to reach. I have given up on my studies and I cried hard inside with my visit with my dad. I wanted him to read my mind and know that my plans were to work in an industry he probably wouldn't be proud of, maybe he did know and maybe that's why he kept pushing engineering work at me telling me I'll be good at it. I don't want to sit at a desk fiddling with a mouse and keyboards all day. I am wasting away enough. I didn't realize I was so scared of becoming nothing after my death until that moment. I can't believe he laughed at me when I told him I wanted to major in microbiology. He believed me when I've said I wanted to work in the morgue, but not photography, not microbiology. How does that make any sense, he had barely spent my seven years of life with me, it was more like two or three years because of all that time he's spent working and gambling.
I keep looking at my right my and my life and fate line crosses at 45-50 years and the fate line is getting deeper. The life and fate line on my left hand if getting lighter and lighter, I can barely see it. I think I'm dying. Death by fungus. Death by health problems. Fuck. The lines look like someone took an eraser and rubbed at it, it is barely there, like drawing thick and hard lines on a piece of paper and erasing it, seriously, dammit... It's barely there...