Bitchy (*)
I found my first journal in a drawer under a pile of nostalgic paper memories hidden like a dirty secret. And it precisely is that. I went through the pages for the first time in many years and I found out that I still recall by heart everything that’s written on them.
The level of self-hatred is enormous. I remember to have been conscious to the highest level of security possible never to let it be found by my mother. The entries cover a period of 5 years and they all can be sum up in a single word: degradation. Moving from the first to the last one the black goes blacker, the pain grows stronger and my will to live weaker. Back then that state of mind was at first confusing and very much shameful. Speaking with my parents about it was a “mission impossible” since it was them to trigger it in the first place (“Mum! Dad! I have a problem and it is that I hate you.”. No; not a chance.). I had no close friends (it was then that my family moved to
No one but me has ever read those pages. I never found the strength to expose my weakness to another person no matter how close. So far I have told (more of "mentioned") that I had had suicidal thoughts (more of "wishes") to only 4 people (**). It is one thing to think sometimes: I wish I was dead! It’s completely different to have had that sign carved in your mind for years.
It’s not that I’m crazy about life at the present but at least I wake up every morning impatient to find out what it will bring. And some days make it up for all those lonely years of pain. Some days are worth staying alive.
There’s always tomorrow…(***)
(*) Since I have become a dog person the word “bitch” has obtained a new and completely offence-free meaning. RUFFF !
(**) There are 4 people in my life that I feel close enough to have told them that?! But that is wonderful! Some people don’t have even one.
(***) But now that I’ve proclaimed negativism to be a vice that I can’t afford to enjoy in public I find myself locked in my head again; only this time I take advantage of the new technologies and blog about it.
posted by balance at
8:59 PM
6 Comments:
If you would take advice from someone, especially me - loose the journal. The bad memories live through it.
p.s. Sleep well!
Don’t take it personally but I can’t and I won’t take your advice although I do believe you when you say it is a friendly one.
The initial idea of starting that journal was…to write down all beautiful thoughts that cross my mind like falling stars; to make a snapshot of something that otherwise would be forgotten. Then it turned into the note book of my nightmares. Now its purpose is to remind me how bad things can really go and it actually helps me enjoy my life more.
Thank you for caring :)
I agree with you Vera, don't chuck the journal in the bin. when you are older it will make you smile.
I would never loose it-it’s a part of me, in a way my blood is on those pages (at least my tears are for sure).
And it already makes me smile-does that mean I’m older already?!
Kidding :) You are a journal keeper-you don’t have to be explained why it is so important.
I used to be a journal keeper, but when I threw it away ... it was a great relief. My bad memories are not something I want to remember because they anchor me to the past, to the unpleasant part of the past. I mean I was talking of the position of an experienced..
p.s. By the way, two days ago I saw a couple that you have described in a previous post. I was quite enthusiastic and I read you post again and realize that the couple I saw was a girl and a midget boy.. Wild flowers
If getting rid off your journal has worked for you then it has been the right thing for you to do. It’s just that the way I see it memory is not a trash can that one can empty on demand. It would’ve been very helpful to be able to clean your head of the entire unwanted burden that holds you down. Wishes…How do you handle bad memories now?
I missed your comments, you know?
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