my mother dropped off boxes of my old diaries and poetry books and albums. For fear I left them there most of the day, but they were begging me to open them, I am a curious cat. Inpatient to boot.
and wow. What a cut throat well of emotions they turned out to be. there are all these photo’s of high school and primary school – seeing all the girls that i love so much was like looking at ghosts from the past – each smile haunting, each memory haunting. Seeing us all sitting in uniform in ridiculous poses makes it all feel like yesterday – but at the same time a lifetime ago…..
and her. Me. Her – I think it is a Her. She is like a trickery, a cruel joke from the past mocking me in each photo. Yes – a fantastic outward display of happiness and inner freedom – contented, alive – but all that my eyes see is the falsity of it all. I know how she is feeling. I can see through to what she really was. And it is not pretty. I feel like burning the lot of them.
I came across a lot of my old writing – and wow – not only was I fucked up at a very young age – at 11 I was musing over things far beyond my borders – also, I have to admit, the stuff is pretty good for my age…. i thought I would use an example. –
If God has gave us all,
then the devil has gave us more
‘we spend our whole life working hard to be Perfect when that only stops at a cliff and everything that He gave us is gone.
Maybe we are working for a thing that we do not understand.
A thing draining our power
a thing that is right of front of us that we see right through.
A thing called survival.
( march 2001)
(this one is quite humorous, yet sad, I thought, I laughed)
I may not have the Perfect blonde hair,
I may have quite a big front and rear
my clothes may be a bit outdated
my thighs may be a bit inflated
my face may look like i have the measles
i may run a little bit like a weasel
okay maybe my feet look a little like ducks
and maybe I weigh a but more than a truck
but isnt it what is inside that matters most
like a talk show is nothing without a good host
Because I am the best person you’ll ever find
of coarse after the rest of all mankind!
I found this funny, not only to realize how young I have been training myself to hate everything I am – but also, In reference to few of the lines – A face like measles? I never have had more than a few pimples at a time in my life….. and run like a weasel? at this time i was the top cross-country runner in my school! – Plus, yes, I have always hated my body – but obese… I have never been.
Just goes to show that I was materializing self hatred out of nothing, or rather, something that was inside that I could not change, and leaked out onto everything I was and everything I touched. A bit sad, too, I guess.
The ongoing theme throughout all my diaries and notes to friends is that life is hard and I hate it and nothing is fair and I feel like I am suffocating and nobody understands …. I am starting to see that I didn’t even understand myself. Throughout all these screeds of writing longing for someone else’s life – be anyone but me – not once to I suggest any reason for why I felt like this, not once do I seem to understand the torment in my own mind.
sometimes I think the hardest part of all this for me is not having anything to blame it on. No big thing that happened as a child or event that broke my heart. Because without that – all I can do is blame everything on ME – become my own worst nightmare, my own event – and wrongly accept that my heart has been broken from birth, into a million little pieces, beyond repair.