As I degenerate to my limbs and organs and tissue and cells and atoms and protons and quarks

For the past weeks or whatever unit of time is long enough I have been feeling like I am dying. Not as in hospital cancer dying, but some looming sense of death. It's like a movie or a book or a song where everything is foreshadowing an end. It's not necessarily somber or depressing foreshadowings all the time, but small things like songs or clouds or hair or walking down a hall give me a smile. I have been feeling continuously tired, with either bouts of little sleep or a lot of sleep, and my skin is very bad recently. I fall asleep in school nearly any opportunity I get, even if I do look like a fool. I can't focus on my schoolwork so I stay up late doing homework. I can't even remember the things I waste time on. Maybe it's winter. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's the end. My computer has been screwing up, I rarely talk to my parents save small talk, I have trouble organizing my thoughts and actions. I used to be smart. I still get A's, but I don't feel like I did. It's not all bad, really. Everything seems very romantic. Like a good movie. Music was once my saving grace but I have so little time for it. And live recordings only act as some sentimental souvenir if I was there. As I listen to songs, I wonder what these songs meant to other people. Maybe this reminds them of a person or a place or a time, and they cry or retreat when they hear it. Maybe they were married to it, or made love to it. Maybe they wrote it. Maybe they killed themselves to it, or were born to it. It's much more accessible than a book or film, and is can be as personal or as communal as one would wish. Movies should be watched together - movie theaters. Books should be read alone - small sized. Music is universal - live performances or playings and headphones and iPods. Songs can be remade - unlike books and much more common than films. Photography and Art? Similar, but the artist's intent is not always honored, unlike a solid, unmalleable recording. Looking at gorgeous canvas paintings from a measly computer screen is no justice.
Can I be saved? By music? By Dylan?