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.

Now I think upon death, Later I’ll wonder how I could have. I’ll return to the thought previous, wondering where to go. Know world, if death not take me, I’ll think of it every day.

Being suicidal is a catch 22. You feel so hopeless, you want death but feel unable to enact it yourself. Writing about it incessantly in a journal doesn’t help to alleviate the feelings, and I don’t know what does. I can’t remember what helped me turn the corner on all these dark thoughts. Honestly, I think I was bored and finally found something to occupy my time other than introspection.