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.

You’ve got to understand that I’ve become distanced from emotion. But I do realize what I am doing. I have thought about the grief my death will cause. I do care and I cry equally for every tear spent on my account. I realize that though I will never be forgotten, I will become remembered fondly and that is the way I would most like to live on. My immortality will be found in this way.

So sad because it’s so wrong. Maybe I did cry a lot, but the pain I was feeling could never equal that I would have caused my friends and family. And perhaps there is a kind of immortality in others’ memories, but you’re better served being alive. Then when someone’s thinking about you, they can call you. I had no idea about all the cool stuff I would have missed out on if I were dead, and I can’t even attempt to describe how happy I am right now that I’m alive to write about this.

Yeah, the party’s still going to happen whether you show up or not, but it would be a lot more fun if you were there.