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.

Well who knows who I am. I sure don’t and I don’t think anybody else does either. I’m so scared right now. I feel lost and lonely and suicidal. I’m lost again and this time I won’t find myself unless someone helps me. Or even finds me for me. The earth is shaking down and winter’s just ended. It’s got to get better soon or it’s going to get a whole lot worse. I still love being me, but you can really hurt the person you love the worst of all. Come tomorrow, I’ll see what I’ve missed in my dreaming absence. Maybe I’ll find a hope, a sin or a reality that wasn’t there before. But please God take away the rut. Give me a paradise in a warped reality I’ve had before. I want it again. I’m babbling – I hope to keep it that way.

I wonder what happened to throw me back into such a funk. Maybe it’s just the frustration of wanted to be with someone and not being able to find someone, or it could just be the standard lack of a social and creative outlet that plagued me back then. The bigger question here is what I meant by finding out what I’ve missed in my dreaming absence. I didn’t drink or do drugs back then. Was I going to try astral projection again?