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.

I’ve got so much hope, I don’t see what gets me down. I’ve got to act fast is all. Or just like I said, I need a girlfriend, or someone to talk to. That’s all.

It really amazes me how the more pathetic and depressed someone is, the more desperate they are to attract a mate. Misery loves company, I guess. You gotta make yourself happy first, because in this state you think you’ll find someone to fill all your gaps and make everything alright. But that’s not the case. You’re going to find someone exactly like you, and what you’ll have in common is self-hatred. That there is a recipe for disaster.