circle of life, or something.
The journal reading started with a search for a particular story that I wrote in college. In my memory the story rocked, but in reality, at least my current view; it really sucks in a naive and amateurish way. Now some of the other projects I uncovered were worth a look and even some revisions. But they reek of everything I no longer am, so it was painful and amusing, resulting in a rather melancholy mood.
Yesterday afternoon I was hit with the deep pain and obsessive tendencies hidden in plain view among the pages of my journals. I have had some serious cycles of depression, particularly in the late teens and early 20's. I probably should have been under some kind of professional psychological care, but no one ever mentioned it to me. I was good at hiding it, at least from the people who might have the authority or interest in helping me. But I think that if anyone had really dared to look they would have seen me struggling, I showed some obvious warning signs. But I guess in a testimony to my own character, I survived.
Most of the really painful situations and events of my life (at least since I was 10) are not chronicled in my journals. Just the heartbreak from boys who didn't like me or didn't love me, and sometimes a rant or two about the world in general. But I didn't write about my father's alcoholism or the abusive boyfriend. I censored myself or protected myself. I can't quite figure that one out. As a result of all this reading , brooding, remembering, laughing, missing and even some crying; I have decided to be absolutely honest in everything I write in my current and future journals. I really don't have anything to hide from myself. And if anyone else reads them, well that's what they get for snooping.
The other thing I learned about myself: I could be kind of promiscuous at times.