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 just doesn’t matter if I’m crazy, anymore, as long as I’m okay with it. So I’ve led a strange childhood and feel a strange attraction to my sister – so? So I’m paranoid, have delusions of grandeur and hallucinate on occasion – so? So I’m empathic and psychic, seeing strange things in my dreams. Does it matter? No. It doesn’t because I’ve found that I am what I’m going to be no matter how much I might want to forget. Better to be accepting than denying.

Whoa, whoa there. Attracted to my sister? Well this is embarrassing. All the other stuff in this entry I remember thinking, except that one. Wow, I don’t even know what to say to that. Moving on…