gems from old journals
In an effort to sort out why I'm such an ass-hole all the time, I dragged out the big, red tub which contains all my old journals and started doing some "research." Here are some of gems I uncovered, circa 1992. I was seventeen through most of this rambling and in my senior year of high-school. My motto, which I have scrawled around on the backs of notebooks and across the dividers, was "expect nothing." I was also, oddly, a christian and I had this favorite bible quote that I've written everywhere, from Proverbs 14:13: "Even in laughter, the heart is sorrowful and the end of that mirth is heaviness." Wasn't I happy and full of light? It's amazing that I didn't listen to Morrissey or seriously try and kill myself.
Other interesting bits I discovered, all telling in their simplicity and weirdness. On a page marked "story ideas," I found these: "1.) This family of forest creatures is separated when a highway is put up through their forest. They stare across at each other and cry." (What the fuck??) "2.) About this girl who gets picked on and bad things happen to her but she doesn't mind because she's used to it. You learn to love her." (Again, I ask you, what the fuck????)
Want more? I got more. This part was written in July of '92 while I was spending a month in Georgia visiting my dad and my grandparents. I used to spend all day with my grandparents while my dad was at work, then I'd run up to his house up the hill when he got home. I dreaded this part of the day because it involved my stepmother and brothers and was always miserable. So here's the journal part: "Sometimes I feel kinda guilty for staying down here all day and not going up to play with the boys (my brothers who were, at that time, about eight years old) during the day, but let me tell you a secret. One: they don't like me, nor do they want to play with me and two: Suzanne (my stepmother) hates me and she makes me feel *more* than unwelcome." Fun.
Ok, are you ready for one last bit? This one speaks exactly to the issue of the day (which is pretty fucking sad, considering this took place 13 years ago and you'd think I would've evolved a little more). This is from January of '93 and I was 18, at school, talking about a teacher: "MW (my favorite teacher) came in and I aggravated her a little. I can't help it -- I don't mean to do and say mean things, but all my life that's how I've been treated by my mom. I can't show my happy feelings in any way but by saying mean things. Do you understand? It's sad, and I know that, but I can't help it because to say unmean things makes me feel weird." God this is pathetic.
Anyway -- yeah -- pathetic. The most pathetic thing is that I'm still grappling with the same shit. It's not quite as bad. I'm not being mean in lieu of being nice like I did when I was 18. But the knee-jerk response of snappishness is sometimes still there. And the self-loathing is always sort of gurgling under the surface. Incredible not to have come any further in all this time. Perhaps I should've invested just a little more time and money in therapy over the years...? Yes. Perhaps.
Other interesting bits I discovered, all telling in their simplicity and weirdness. On a page marked "story ideas," I found these: "1.) This family of forest creatures is separated when a highway is put up through their forest. They stare across at each other and cry." (What the fuck??) "2.) About this girl who gets picked on and bad things happen to her but she doesn't mind because she's used to it. You learn to love her." (Again, I ask you, what the fuck????)
Want more? I got more. This part was written in July of '92 while I was spending a month in Georgia visiting my dad and my grandparents. I used to spend all day with my grandparents while my dad was at work, then I'd run up to his house up the hill when he got home. I dreaded this part of the day because it involved my stepmother and brothers and was always miserable. So here's the journal part: "Sometimes I feel kinda guilty for staying down here all day and not going up to play with the boys (my brothers who were, at that time, about eight years old) during the day, but let me tell you a secret. One: they don't like me, nor do they want to play with me and two: Suzanne (my stepmother) hates me and she makes me feel *more* than unwelcome." Fun.
Ok, are you ready for one last bit? This one speaks exactly to the issue of the day (which is pretty fucking sad, considering this took place 13 years ago and you'd think I would've evolved a little more). This is from January of '93 and I was 18, at school, talking about a teacher: "MW (my favorite teacher) came in and I aggravated her a little. I can't help it -- I don't mean to do and say mean things, but all my life that's how I've been treated by my mom. I can't show my happy feelings in any way but by saying mean things. Do you understand? It's sad, and I know that, but I can't help it because to say unmean things makes me feel weird." God this is pathetic.
Anyway -- yeah -- pathetic. The most pathetic thing is that I'm still grappling with the same shit. It's not quite as bad. I'm not being mean in lieu of being nice like I did when I was 18. But the knee-jerk response of snappishness is sometimes still there. And the self-loathing is always sort of gurgling under the surface. Incredible not to have come any further in all this time. Perhaps I should've invested just a little more time and money in therapy over the years...? Yes. Perhaps.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 10:37 PM
1 Comments:
I spent Friday night flipping through old notebooks so I could salvage the good stuff and dump the rest. It was alternately funny and painful, and I started gulping beer like it was water about an hour into the project. Mostly I was amazed, like you, that I still recognized so much of myself in all that tacky rambling.
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