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previous ~ ~ ~ next Found this rummaging around through my files and was struck by the quality... (boasting? maybe...) I never finished it. But it certainly got me to thinking this evening. Wednesday, May 15, 2002 I think I�m afraid to write. It�s weird... my writing used to define me, and now I�m frightened of it... perhaps because I�m frightened to define myself anymore. Somehow, I don�t know how I�ve gotten where I am, and... well, it�s hard to go forward if you�re always hiding from the past. I had a half dozen thought running through my head as I was driving home from class today (Mr. Milton�s English class, EWRT 1A from 6 � 8 in the evenings Monday and Wednesday). Oh, for a voice operated tape recorder! Then I got home, and still had the ideas kind of bubbling in the back of my head--and hesitated, because I wasn�t really sure that I wanted to write. One of the things I was thinking about�hmmm, not really sure where to start, it�s all kind of bubbling up together, sloshing around inside my head and combining in new and strange ways. How to organize it, though... I find it strange that, with my first taste of real freedom, I decided to try to end my life. One would think, after nearly nine years of suppression, oppression, and general depression, the attempt would come at some point while I was still living at home. But it didn�t. My freshman year at college... I suppose to some extent, it�s what every 18-year-old kid goes through. My first time truly living away from my parents: staying up until 4 in the morning, drinking gallons of coffee to blearily make it through my first 3 morning classes (brilliantly stacked one right after the other, starting promptly at 8 am Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and not ending until 11), finding out that, at a college of that size, no one cared or even noticed if I, for the first time in my life, skipped class! I found myself drinking with people I barely knew, staying at random houses (because it had long since been drilled into me that I was NOT to drive if I�d had anything to drink), scrambling to find my wits in the morning in time to make it to class. It should have been the happiest time of my life, right? And yet... and yet, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into a depression, much worse than the dull lethargy that had settled on me while still living at home, being molested by a man almost twice my age, and half convincing myself that they were right, that I really WAS worthless. Perhaps it was because then, like now, I was afraid to truly look at myself and see who I was. After nearly a decade of abiding by a social contract I should have, by rights, ripped to shreds years ago, I not only didn�t know who I was, I wasn�t even sure who I wanted to be! How many days until finals? 51. What was one good thing that happened today? Kitten purrs! :) Miscellaney: Sometimes, I look back at things I wrote and think, "Wow! Who was that girl?" Tell me what you think. This is why I love my husband. ~ ~ ~ Not an engineer Most recent: The REAL surprise party - Monday, Jul. 11, 2005 Still not here - Wednesday, Jul. 06, 2005 Moved - Thursday, Jun. 30, 2005 I survived - Thursday, Jun. 23, 2005 Go see her. Now. - Thursday, Jun. 02, 2005 |
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