This is a practicing self-memoir, recorded as an inconsistent logbook. This is my junkyard of will to live. Its ability to contain raw honesty and portray life's imperfections keeps me going. It makes me feel liberated and autonomous over my current meager life. It's a sanctuary for my literary authenticity.

I’m at my most courageous on the page because interrogating my feelings with words feels justified and purposeful in the case that it helps someone else understand the mess of the human condition.