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.

When you’re alone, No one is home, I’ll be the one To take you there. I’ve got no place, In this small space. But I’ve got something to do. Cry while I’m gone, Cause when it’s too long, I won’t be back so soon. I’ve got a way, Knowing what to say, You’ll hear me there alone.

Still tortured, I see. Well, I guess I’m still a little tortured today. Maybe that’s just my personality. I’d rather not be, of course, but I guess some things are just ingrained.