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.

My mom and I grow farther and farther apart. Just being near her, I can feel the tension. I won’t follow the path she put me on and that makes her angrier by the minute. I suspect we don’t talk because of the fact we would only argue if we did.

I have many friends and have no trouble communicating my emotions. When it comes to family, I run empty handed. It’s a communications gap that I am unable to bridge. In a way, I fear the future thinking that I will lose all contact with family. In a way, I look forward to the future for the same reason.

What happens will happen. They don’t support what I am doing, so why do they deserve my admiration & support. I don’t know. It’s noble to forgive, but I’m going to have to forget first. Such is the way things are.

I would say that I was far from being a bad kid, but I still put my mom through some hell (which really makes me scared to be a parent). Case in point, within the last two weeks of writing this I had dropped out of college, attempted to leave home, and was refusing to get a job or go back to school - on top of all the other weird shit I was doing. And through it all, I managed to remain somehow indignant. Hmm, why was she mad indeed?

Despite the mom hating here, I still love this entry. It’s that classic crossroads that combines both fear and hopefulness over the same thing. Sometimes I think we don’t have enough moments like that in life.