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.

IMG_9361.JPG

Been too tired to even write lately. I think much about the dark side when I’m tired. Get down on myself, think of death, forget about all the love I have and all the world that I only can see. I hate that.

Reading through this now, it seems like the thing that got me out of my depression was doing something productive that I enjoyed. It’s amazing what obvious things you can’t see when you’re depressed.