For years I wrote, filling journal after journal. I recorded the events, the memories, the small victories and painful losses of my life. The "dream" of evolving into a "writer" remained just that, a goal somewhere in the future. Then, I lost my job, and my life began to unravel. I battled severe depression, being hopitalized four times in one year. For months, the only solace I found was in my office, my "santuary", where I wrote feverishly. Now, with nothing to lose and everything to gain, I poured over 20 years of recorded time. I finally began to seriously pursue my dream. "Sometime" in the future was now.