"I have nothing left right now. Some of my friends talk about me behind my back, my family is in shambles and just barely hanging on, and I despise school. . .
. . . I need to get out! I want to leave and go someplace where I will never see grungy snow, cowboy boots, and football jerseys ever again. . .
. . .I feel like there is nothing to live for here. I don’t know if it will be different anywhere else, but I need to find out. Everyday is the same. I get up, go to the windowless fortress,* do homework for a billion hours, and then come online for one or two hours. Every day. It isn’t even a relaxing lifestyle. It is so stressful I want to scream.
But I am stuck here. I hate that feeling. I feel so hopeless.
Only 2 years, 8 months, and 1 day left. And that is just an estimation."
-February 27, 2000
Posted on my original weblog, which I made the unfortunate mistake of stumbling across tonight. (I think the most terrifying part of all of this, is that I posted this stuff on a website for people to read. But keep in mind that this was in the days before Live Journal, which I think renders the tone of the writing slightly more acceptable.)
The sick thing is, I kept that countdown until the day that I pulled away in a U-Haul full of second-hand furniture 2 years, 8 months and 1 day after I wrote that.
I want to give my 15-year-old self a hug right now. (Okay, and maybe I want to spoon with 15-year-old self right now, too. Because that'd be pretty cool. It'd be like cuddling times two.)
*The windowless fortress is what I called my high school, because it didn't have any windows. (Once, on the first day of 11th grade, the power went out. Nobody could find the way to their classes because it was pitch black inside, due to the complete lack of natural light.) It did, however, have a helicopter landing pad on the roof. Who needs windows when you have a helicopter landing pad?