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’m sick. Physically sick. But my head feels clear and I’m not afraid to be me. I’m not going to lean back and let my life be controlled by people that incompetents. I’m going to be me and worry about why other people aren’t them. I might worry about my hair here and there, but only as a side trek. I don’t have time to do nothing and worry all day about tomorrow. I’ll have to worry when the day has come and the time is nigh.

I find that those who are socially inept all too often blame everyone else for not being themselves as the reason for not getting along. This is what I’m doing here.

Oh, and I’m worried about my hair because I’m growing it out. The next time I cut it, it will be halfway down my back.