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’m sad again and I don’t know why. I think it’s a little bit of everything caving in. I haven’t been alone in the longest time and I want to be, yet being alone too long scares me like nothing else. There are holes in my life that need be filled, but there is nothing around. I’m a leech that thinks of his own suicide every day. And here I am trying to fight evil, when I can’t even sate my personal demons for too long. I continue to fight It. Sometime soon, I will either find it and win or find it and lose. It’s coming for me.

I was always convinced at this age…about until my mid-twenties…that something was coming for me. Some kind of fate, but I didn’t know if it was good or bad. At night, in heavy wind, I thought I could hear it coming. I’m not shitting you. Then the feeling went away. Did whatever was coming for me finally catch me?