I decided that if my writing was going to get me in trouble, I might as well make royalties from it.

I’ve had a couple of online journals, now. One them goes back as long as five or six years. It’s on an American based site, in a tight-knit online community. That journal has followed me through some of the most chaotic times in my life. Upon learning about my autobiography being confiscated, I logged into that site with the intentions of deleting everything. I couldn’t do it.

There were a couple of emails from a small publishing house based in New Zealand, inviting me to publish my journals. They’d already invited me in the past, at which time I blatantly accused them of being a fraud. Something didn’t match up to me. Upon reading their latest emails and their rationalization of seemingly unprofessional ways I decided to give it a go.

I started taking the entries off-line, copying and pasting them one by one into a word document, and editing for any spelling or typing errors. I’m still in the process of doing this. Reading those old journal entries made me realize a number of things. A lot of it made me feel sick to stomach and a lot of it has forced memories to flash back. Most of it has made me question myself, ’who the fuck did I think I was kidding?’

Either I was lying to myself and the rest of the world, or a hell of a lot has changed and I’ve done a hell of a lot of growing. Or, I’m purely psychotic suffering multiple personalities and I don’t even know it.