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.

How much of a friend can a person be if lines are crossed that should not be? No respect is given. Laying down the law is hardly done by me, when it it, it’s ignored. Where are the real friends? Where is truth? Where is everything?

FUUUUUUUCK! What the hell am I talking about? Who wronged me? What lines were crossed? Knowing me from back then, someone probably took a bite of my grilled cheese without asking and then I cried about it for a couple hours.