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 have to do what I need to. Every time I walk away, I become sad and have a tear to myself. Instead I could be happy in someone’s arms. Soon, and if not then, never.

Okay, I don’t know if I’m referring to someone specific or not in this entry, but I will say this. I’m kinda disturbed by not only my longing to just be with anyone, but also the thought process I’m having where I think that just being with someone will fix all my problems and make me a complete person. I’m not saying the presence of other people can’t make you happy, but I am saying that true self-satisfaction is only going to come from within.