Anyone who’s ever kept a journal for an extended period of time has had the sensation. Today, thanks to archive.org, I was confronted with my 17-year-old self. Nothing is more frustrating than knowing that no matter how loud you scream, you’ll never bridge the gap between then and now, and save yourself the trouble, the pain. I try to be grateful for the wisdom I have gained and the love I have shared, but all I can do is imagine myself 5 or 10 years hence, similarly screaming into the void. That’s dreary. I know. But it’s all I know. Frustration, failure and disappointment.

What makes it worse is that I can only imagine the protective, paternal feeling I have toward myself at 17 would, could I somehow arrange a chat with that person, be only met with revulsion at what I have become, and not become.

I seem to have retained my ability to torture a sentence, however.