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.

It’s hard being alone. You’ll sometimes have to lie to avoid explanations. You’ll lie just to not be alone. I can never understand some things – no desire, no way ever would. Being separated is not “cool” as they all say. What do I do for fun? What do I not do to avoid your fun? I’m still me. Too bad? No. And not too good.

I’m still doing everything I can to avoid being in the presence of alcohol, which is no small feat in college. It’s what I needed to do, I guess, still being haunted by my dad’s problems (pictured at left?). Still, I now wish I had just gotten over myself and at least gone out with my friends to parties. No one said I had to drink at a party.