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 tomorrow finally comes, I will not have eaten for near 24 hours. The weakness and tiredness I feel is immense, but along with this comes a clearness of mind which I find strange. Perhaps it is only to put aside this primal urge that my find functions so. Truly though, things that formerly frustrate come together in a way I never could have seen on a full stomach. Still, I do dream of tomorrow and the great feast that awaits me.

In college, I had a meal plan that would only let me eat on weekdays, and if I didn’t have the money or the gumption to sneak in to the cafeteria, I didn’t eat. I think I went much longer than just a day without eating. I know at one point I dreamed all night of eating cereal, and the dreams were so vivid that I got up at the crack of dawn on Monday and waited outside the cafeteria for 30 minutes before it opened for the day, so I could eat the cereal I dreamed of at the earliest possible moment.