I found my old diary yesterday while taking part in some spring cleaning. See, I am getting ready to move in with my love and I have a lot to do. His place isn’t all that big, but I love how he makes the most out of a small space. Everything in his house is customary–he’s a handy man. Anyways, while he is prepping to move me in, I am prepping to move out.
I found my old diary and I remember the day I bought it–clear as day. It was a couple years ago in a thrift shop. The front of the diary said “Live your dreams”. At the time, I had this idea that writing in it every day would be self-medicating. It is to a point; but after a while the dates between the pages become more and more distant to which eventually you start to convince yourself that writing isn’t necessary to heal anymore.
I sit on my bedroom floor and hold my flabby light weighted pink diary. I turn the page and whoa! the first page is covered with big bubble letters that say: Love More. How cute. Next page has my “desirable man” …tall, brown hair/eyes, and loves his mother. The following page has a list of goals I wanted to complete prior to Summer of 2016: move out, find a better job, buy a dog. The page after that has baby girl/baby boy names. And then, of course, the rest of the diary consists of daily events and thoughts. I remember writing a lot about being single, and how I feel as though my closest friends at the time don’t understand me.
Sitting on my floor only smiling with shame, I shredded all the pages in this diary. I knew that I would maybe regret this 40 years from now, but right now I wanted to destroy the handwritten pages completely from my life. Why? Because I didn’t want someone to find this diary and misconceive who I am now. It’ amazing how much of a difference two years makes. “What will I be doing this time, next year?” was found on a couple pages written in the summer of 2015.
I can answer everything I questioned in the shredded diary. Yes, I am happy. Yes, I found a soul mate. Yes, I am making more money. Yes, I adopted a dog. No, I will not move to New York City. No, my sister is no longer with that shithead. No, I am no longer friends with those girls.
Writing is self-medicating, and it also leaves your mark. I chose to walk back into my past, and clean it. Just like we can cover tattoos, and walk backwards on a beach and wipe away our footprint. The shredded paper cannot be undone; but my progress will always be known by myself & those who choose to stay in my life and truly love me. That’s what’s important.