|11:07 pm - Class of '93|
Found an old diary today. Entries were few and sporadic (for someone who wanted to be a writer, I didn't write much) and covered mainly 1989-1991, my 9th and 10th grade years. I was surprised at how many things that now stand out as very important memories never made it to paper (but then, I only journalled now and then) and how many things seemed crucial to me then that have since faded into a long blur of old memories. But there were a few entries that made me laugh, and a few that reminded me of how far I've come, and one or two that let me know I'm still the same person. Although there are fewer than 30 entries, I can see that forceful optimism I had when I started high school fading into the pervasive sadness that would follow me around into my 20's, and finally break me. And I can see a tiny glimpse of the person I hoped I would become, hiding inside someone who was busy perfecting the art of hiding. Boys, boys, boys, and feeling mortified because my brother knew which boys I liked. Reading The Outsiders, wondering if not having a date to a school dance made me, like, totally lame, and learning how to ask boys to dance. (Well, I didn't have a date! I wasn't going to just sit there!) Going to a New Kids on the Block concert (yes, really). A girl at my school killing herself on the baseball field.
This was the period in which I really started to come into conflict with my parents, but I usually only recorded my feelings, not the events that led to them. And the worst of it happened in the 2-year interval between the penultimate entry in 1991, and the final entry, from my first year in college, in 1993. I honestly don't remember if I kept another journal during that time. Oh, I was great at angsty poetry, though. That notebook has yet to surface. :)