Ancient history

28 Dec

I have a back track record at keeping journals. Let me rephrase that. Not the “keeping” of the journal, as in the writing and documenting of my life. I’m pretty good at that. I love to talk, and my favorite topic is me, after all. The problem I have is keeping them around, in existence. I tend to get mad and destroy them. The journal I kept in 8th grade I burned after some feuds with friends, angry I had a book full of stories of them and our past lives. I saw it not as a book chronicling our adventures or my life, but a tome of lies and deceit.

At 17, scorned by my first boyfriend, I ripped up the journal I kept from my 16th year, embarrassed and betrayed at my lack of common sense and naiveté. Junior year of college I ended up deleting the livejournal I kept freshman and sophomore year due to my roommate from sophomore year threatening to go to my boss with some things I’d said about her. Only after I’d hit the “delete permanently” did the thought of making it private come to me. The word press blog I kept through grad school I frantically deleted a few months upon graduation, convinced I’d never find a job with an internet paper trail. Again, realizing too late I need to make backups.

I’m beyond furious with myself for not keeping these records, wishing I had them to reflect back on now. Sure, I remember most things fairly clearly, but there’s nothing like going back and getting into your own head. Somehow, my deadjournal from ages 17-18 (I’m so anti! so broody!) survived. I cherish it. I need to copy and save all the entries before they’re gone. (Let’s face it, deadjournal isn’t going to be around forever.) I revisit it from time to time, mostly to laugh at myself. I was very dramatic. But I understand where I was coming from. As I’ve said multiple times, 17 is hard. And I’m still pretty dramatic.

For example, February 14th, 2003. Valentine’s day, after being dumped the previous October and watching the boy move on… actually, before the dumping. It wasn’t pretty. It took me a while to get over it, and apparently I took this particular holiday hard, as scorned women are wont to do.

Don’t get me wrong, I know they hurt too. But how do they turn it off so well, whilst I drive home in tears every time? How can they mask their emotions so purely, while mine are always so blatantly written in my eyes? Sometimes I get the feeling they never feel the bad emotions. They claim to, to make me feel better, but in all actuality, maybe they’re just too strong to feel them. Or I’m too insignificant to provoke them.

Poor thing. It gets better, I promise. Just those few people were frozen robots.

May 24, 2003 – Just before my high school graduation.

Emotionally, right now, I’m a wreck, and there’s no one to tell it too, because everyone has their problems too, and I have no way to phrase mine. I’m growing older. I’ll be 18 on Monday. I’m not sure I’m growing wiser. I’m growing a lot quieter though. I know that. I rarely voice my opinions. I’m always thinking, and it’s driving me insane. Very quickly.

Some things never change.

Or this gem, from June 8, 2003 – four days after high school graduation:

The minute my life becomes something more than shambles and shards of emotions I don’t understand is the minute I turn to dust so I can’t enjoy it.

Oh, me. I was so colorful. It’s dramatic and it’s over the top, and it should be embarrassing but I like knowing what I was thinking, where I was. I mourn the gaps from the journals abandoned. Embarrassed by them in the moment, but I’m sure I’d be appreciative of it now. Lesson learned.

(Hopefully.)

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2 Responses to “Ancient history”

  1. squirrel circus December 30, 2011 at 7:29 pm #

    I’m impressed that it seems as though you actually FILLED some of these journals before you trashed them. I literally have a journal graveyard in the trunk at the foot of our bed. I’ve always loved buying a new one and starting that first fresh page…..then I quit a week later.

    On a related note, I have a box of the letters that my Dad sent me in college. We were super close, and they all seem to reference a phone call or letter from me, where I invariably gave the impression that I was about to climb out on a ledge. Talk about melancholy and angst!! My parents must have been SO worried about me — what a head case!

    • Cally December 30, 2011 at 9:28 pm #

      I definitely filled them up. I like to accumulate a large amount of memories before destroying them, I guess. More efficient that way?
      I definitely had a worrying amount of angst in some of the entries. If someone did read them, they would think I’d stopped writing and swallowed some pills or something. Luckily it was all just drama.

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