A letter to the future

Today, I tried to jump out of a moving bus. As it seems, I am a plethora of bad choices.

In my 2:40 non-mathematics course, I recalled my love that caused me here. My want to study data and computer science and how it had led to this mathematics main course and the reality of what could have been had I chosen the right degree.
In my math classes, I often feel overwhelmed yet today, I felt a sense of deep regret. What could become of me if I don't make something of this? What will become of me when I fail to make something of this.

My bruises are yet to become marred; left looming as an open gash on my hand - a reminder of the mistake I made, the bad choices I had accumulated.
Left cleaning the tar off my wounds.

Dear future me, in the near future, in the glooming future, will I be left with a body full of scars? A life reminiscent of all the wrong persons I had trusted, the wrong timing I had chosen, and the lack of self-preservation. How had I failed to think for myself? How dare I fail to think of myself.

Yet, as it seems. I care more of the stares that followed me around than the realization. "You could have died" she said. I could, yet here I am. If I had died, what could change? If I cease to be, what will be? Some months ago, I believe they couldn't be without me. Here I am, and there they are.

Today, I had jumped out of a moving bus, and it reminds me of my father. Of what he would think of this. In the last email we exchanged, he'd closed, "Love you, my princess". I wonder; if he knew of how right he was, how correct his blatant prediction of me was, would he call me so dearly? He called me stupid, and I believe him. Now, I believe him.

Will this silence cause me? How should I know when to stop - where to depart. I think I just died of shame on that tarred road. Somehow, I'm filled with more embarrassment than dismay. Like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that; I am left wondering what exactly is wrong with me.

I guess I shouldn't be so distressed - for the first time in what felt like months, I could write. But I am quite saddened - my bottle is broken. In five-years' time, will this matter? Will this, too, count towards my dissatisfaction?