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’s very early right now, so I hope I come off right today when I lay these words down. I’m tired, but there shouldn’t be too much difference between just getting up & just going to bed. I’m kind of in the middle of the two. Whatever-anywayz. I was feeling very small last night as everyone was passing the bong. Not everyone was having a hit, but they may as well have, for I felt alone just the same. I used to feel that I was so strong & yes, perhaps a little superior, but last night, I felt weak for being there. I felt sad to see my friends this way. Not only did I seem weak, we all did. We all seemed like liars of a sort. I was a liar for staying when I didn’t want to, others were a liar for doing it simply because they fell into it, others were liars for this is all that was real to them. I truly wanted to cry then, but never got the chance, and I’m not crying no either. The time has passed. Maybe I’ve overcome it and next time (for most assuredly, knowing my friends, there will be a ext time) I’ll be fine with it. Perhaps, though, I’ll feel sick of it again. Either feeling would be fine. I hope, though, that if it’s the latter emotion, I’ll have the strength to leave, maybe just for a short while, but enough to get away from whatever inside me is causing this. I love my friends, just sometimes, I don’t love what they do.

I now realize that I felt like such an outsider in this entry because a) I wasn’t high, and b) due to everyone else being stoned they were all in their own world, furthering my feelings of being alone. All that said though, if I wanted to leave, I certainly could have.