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.

Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah. That’s all I seem to hear lately. It’s all just becoming a frustrating blur and now I understand. Being depressed is depressing and I get mad being this way. I hate the winter, it gets me down. Sometimes I think back to what I would have done in my present situation if I were a child. Then I don’t do it because I’m too grown up. I hate that. I don’t want to grow up but I am. Why? I think my desires and wants are going beyond the temporary boredom reliever of toydom. I want success, prestige, pride and fun forever. I can’t seem to find it. I can’t seem to find the inspiration to acheive what I want. I should make sure I work a strict 2 hours a day on something to further my goals.

I don’t know if this is common amongst everyone in their late teens, but I suspect it is. There’s this desire to find yourself and lay out your plans for moving into adulthood. A need to prove yourself. So here I am suffering day after day in this journal trying to figure out this quandry, and I’ve stated my goals as success, prestige, pride and fun forever. In a way, I found all those things…but it still didn’t fill that hole. There’s always going to be something else you don’t have. It reminds me of a lame/clever saying I coined when I graduated college. When I graduated high school I wanted to rule the world, but then I went to college…got wiser and more educated, and set higher goals for myself.