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.

Depression really isn’t worth my time. I’ve got better things to do than sit around being worried and scared about what awaits. I’ve got dead lines and I’ve got plans. Nothing else is necessary.

Going through all these old entries one by one, I’m just now starting to realize how formative this year in my life was for me. There’s something about this year after dropping out of college that made me desperate to prove myself, and become something. A lot of these things I say in here, I’m still living and doing today. It’s like having knocked myself off the path before me put me on the road to where I am now.