An excerpt from my real journal, the one I don't publicize, made out of paper:

"In the most recent days, I have found myself in , what seems to be a rather long, season of loneliness. I am not to be pitied, for I know that these are preliminary days and such that will mark my soul. All around me are people. There are children, family, friends, past loves, and those I know very little of. I talk and spend time with these, yet, I feel such time is futile; for they listen to my words but are deaf to my soul. No one is at fault and I am not upset by this. Strangely, I feel this is exactly what I am to endure at this time. There is a dark veil before me that conceals the path ahead. I cannot make-out any colors or shapes, but I sense something of great purpose awaits me at the end of this cold hallway. In solitude I spend my time, listening to the stillness, to others, to myself, in attempt that I might know more and become less, that more can be done through me. This knowing of my preordained suffering, now and in the years to come, brings me peace and assurance.It's funny how comforting loneliness can be. This season has been a long time in the works and I feel my journey is beginning soon. I have felt a stranger here for so long and am ready to see what the rest of the world will make of me. Perhaps I might find a place to call home and genuinely feel at home. The time to venture is near, and I believe I am ready."