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 feel a little lost at times. Like I really don’t know what I am or where to go. I guess the only thing that’s keeping me going is knowing that it’s only temporary. It’s not a fight though, it’s just a persistence. Then the fight begins. When I’m in my right to let those who I hate know that I hate.

Again, me complaining about being an RA. It is hard going from being a person that’s more than willing to tell someone to fuck off to their face, to becoming a figure that can’t for fear of the repercussions. But seriously, the floor I was assigned to really sucked.