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 heard it, I swear I did. I was told that everything I needed would come to me if I didn’t have semen shoot out of me in any way. I guess it hasn’t been that long, a week and a half at the most. All I seem to be getting is blueballs every other night. Is this what I’ve been promised? I don’t know. It seems I’ve just been getting down over nothing lately. As if I knew my time was ticking away, so I was just waiting for it to happen. I’ve got to stop. I’ve still got a month and a half. It’s time to take action. I’ve got to grab what I want, take matters into my own hands. I’m not giving up, in fact I’m going to be trying, harder than ever. I’ll die fighting, because I’ve planned my demise to death. Now is the time for action.

Not that this is going to come as any surprise to anyone who reads this regularly (and if you do, I feel sorry for you), but I was pretty much fucking crazy at 19. The kind of crazy where I really should have been given therapy and drugs. So when I start this entry stating that, “I heard it, I swear I did.” I really mean it. I actually heard someone tell me this, and on top of that lunacy, I listened and did as I was told. I was really scared to have sex, and still hadn’t at this time. Somehow I became convinced that by not having sex, I was getting closer to becoming a Jesus-like figure. As in, I would soon gain wisdom and healing powers. I shit you not.

Oh, and that month and a half deadline I’m talking about? That’s the beginning of my second attempt at going to college. My plan was to kill myself if I hadn’t found success before school started. See? Told you I was fucking crazy.