Who the hell am I? Was I? Will I be?

Today I found my journals. Well I didn't find them. I acknowledged their presence on my bookshelf. So I opened them up to have a quick catch up with myself. I am disturbed at how little I can relate to the 19 year old me, the 20 year old me. It's only been two years, but everything is different. I read words that I wrote in the midst of major depression, seeking healing and restoration. I wrote about how much I loved Arni, and how I never wanted to lose him, despite the nagging feeling that our relationship was going to end in failure. I wrote about how I wanted a baby more than anything else. I also wrote about what I observed in the city. I wrote about my PCM and named kids by name that I can only vaguely remember now. I wrote about worship in Torrey-Grey and how powerful it was sometimes. I prayed and pleaded with God in those journals. And I find myself flinching at my words. I feel like I am reading what someone else wrote. How could I have said those things? I can't relate to myself anymore. I don't know what part of me is real. I know who I am now, but how could I feel so passionately about things that meant the world to me, and not even feel a slight stirring in my soul for them any more? Is that part of me lost forever? Will I ever pen prayers to God and find in Him everything that I found before? I obviously don't care to relate to the immature me that loved Arni, but what about the me that realized how desperately I needed God. Did I grow out of that? Can I really believe that I am so self-sufficient and happy in my life that I don't need God anymore? That's how I feel. I'm not sure I want to wait until life knocks me on my ass again to find out that I needed Him all along. I don't want to become so dependent on my relationship with Jeremy that the moment it falters my world is in pieces. I know I need something more, but that need has some terrifying implications.