I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Sanity is highly overrated. My best times have been on the edge, My worst were painfully sobering. I love my madness, and those who don’t are living on the wrong side. Insanity is unbelievably…underrated.

The formatting suggests this is a poem, which maybe it was in my mind at the time, but I also know that it rings true. At this point in my life, I hadn’t gone full-blown nuts (depressed, yes, but not completely checked out - I say this with confidence because I definitely came much closer later on).

This entry is all about growing pains. Having to take on responsibility while desperately trying to hold on to the freedom of others expecting little of you, yet always being driven forward by the frustration that this automatic expectation of passivity from others inspires.

Then again, maybe not. I am right. Being unhinged is pretty fun.