The diary of Me

Long before the advent of the weblog I was a serial if somewhat lapsed diary writer. It all started for me back in Junior High as an English class assignment where you were to write in a journal every day and hand them in for checking, I think something like once a week.

The teacher swore he wouldn’t read the entries, rather he would just look to see you were actually writing something, anything, as that was all that mattered. I ended up keeping a pretty intact history of the goings-on amongst my circle of friends as well as my inner-most thoughts for the better part of a couple of years, well past graduation. After I grew up I attempted to dedicate some time to doing the same with my day to day life but there were long gaps of nothing.

When I was with my ex I kept a diary that I eventually destroyed as I didn’t want him to stumble across it one day even though I kept it pretty hidden for reasons I won’t get into. I regret that now because like it or not it was still part of my history. I had a more”public” diary that I left laying around that chronicled the more mundane aspects of day to day life but with no real record of the stuff that was really going on in my head.

Anyway, back to when I was young. At first most of my writing was about how lame it was to have to write in the stupid book for marks but after a while I started to actually write “stuff” in there. At first just what I was doing at that given time, homework assignments and then eventually and I guess most importantly, my feelings.

I sometimes wrote entries directed to my adult self, wondering what that far off person would think of me and what I had to say when I finally got “old”.

Reading through these old diaries I sometimes want to go back in time and reassure the VERY insecure Belinda of yore that she would turn out just fine and that she wasn’t destined to be ugly, forgotten and alone and other times I would just like to kick her ass.

I would write of the tragedy of “love”, how so-and-so broke my heart and how DEPRESSED I was. How the world would be a such better place without me in it and how nobody would even notice if I was gone I was such a loser. The next day I would wax poetic about a new boy that had smiled at me or asked me out and all was right with the world once more. There was writing of the bitter, ugly jealousy of a friend who I saw as more popular with the boys and really, all she truly ever was, was nice to me. I’m tellin’ ya, I deserved that kick in the ass.

A sample of  16 yr old “wisdom”  (circa June 1982) subject: Growing up:

“At one time you played,  you meant the world to one another. Time changes everything.

You grow up, you grow apart, a shame yes, but it’s natural.

I guess that being an adult means adjusting to what happens, at least better than children would.

Friends were so important to have, many of them.

Now a few people close to you mean so much more.

Growing up can be hard, but only if you let it.”

Wow. Deep. ;)

So here I am many years later doing pretty much the same thing, writing out my day to day goings on and occasionally just my thoughts, granted a wee bit more publicly. But still, ultimately for myself and the odd person who comes by and visits with me for a while. It really is great therapy sometimes.

I’m glad these entries are here for me to to look back on, one day I’m sure I will. I will probably laugh at myself then too but I think I will like this me just a little bit more.

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