I'm in History class right now, can it get any worse? Yes,
it can indeed. I'm sitting here in my gray chair, broke.
Broke because I cannot decide, and I am confused. I'm in a
gray spot, a spot that varies from white to black a couple
of times every single day. And this is why I am writing. I
can't concentrate in class because I worry about this gray
place. I am scared of it. I wanna be certain. I wanna know
that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, I wanna know
if I walk the whole nine yards on a risky thin rope, that I
will have what I want waiting for me right there. But every
once in a while I fall, because I try to believe that
there's something there, but I lose my hope because I don't
see it. So I get back up when I get encouraged, but fall
back down at suspicious times when I'm just too weak to even
stand. And then there is the option of stopping, but then I
would never know if something was there, waiting for me to
capture it. But it doesn't matter, every time I get back on
the run it seems longer than ever before. So right now, I am
sitting here, in my History class, and writing, because I am
sore from all my wounds. I am so sick of falling down. I
cherish that light, the one that might make me happy, but I
am afraid I won't reach it. It is so dear to me that I break
down and cry every time it seems it me as if it left me. It
is my only hope. And I have lost it.

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So yeah, February 25, 2003 in my history class. I spilled
all my troubled emotions on that piece of paper at that
moment. It's funny how this was written so long ago, and how
it is still relevant to my life day.