Tuesday.

I went back and read some of my old journals today... my really old ones.

It makes me sad that the writer I was then has completely disappeared.  The girl I was then managed to make me feel things I haven't felt in 7 years... I could remember exactly what I was feeling as I wrote each entry so long ago. The beauty of the human body is that although it can remember pain, it can never again feel that again.  I can remember that it hurt, but I can't remember the exact feeling.  I don't know where that girl went... who can remind me of pain so many years later, but I would guess that sometime over the past 6-7 years she grew up.

I couldn't stop crying tonight... yes, my old self was worried about typical teenage things like image, college, school and boys (and yes, in that order)... but when I wrote about things like "Stacy is still alive" as something I was grateful for that day and "Stacy is feeling better despite chemo" and "Stacy graduated today!" it absolutely breaks my heart. At the time, I considered her a really good friend and now I don't even think about it... or her. She was the first friend of mine to pass away and I feel ashamed of myself that I give the insignificant things in my life more than the the girl who helped remind me to be more thankful for every day at that point in my life.

Even though, in many ways, I was so much more shallow then, I was also so much more grateful.  I believed in life, I believed in love, I believed in every day and I believed in God.  When did I lose myself?