a writer’s diary
I had resolved to burn/throw away/shred all my diaries. They represent some serious unhappiness in my life!
But… for some reason I’ve been thinking about death the last few years. Don’t laugh. Since it’s a somewhat necessary phase our human bodies go through sooner or later, in my mind, it’s good to go ahead and prepare and sort out ‘the meaning of life’ and what I want to leave behind.
I got this revelation in this last year. I was sitting on a plane. My mind always turns to thoughts of death when I’m on a plane. Then it turns to how almost statistically impossible it is for planes to crash– one in millions and millions of flights crashes, literally. But I always have to think it. I might die. Okay Jesus. I’ll try to be ready.
So I was thinking– if I die, what do I want to say? So… I need to be sure and say those things now.
In concert with that, I have been settling into my new home over the last– almost a year. I have thrown away so much crap… although there’s plenty more to throw away!! And I’ve cast an eye on my diaries– stacks and stacks of them since I was ten years old.
I read one time that part of one’s process of personal growth should be writing a biography. well… it’s all written. at least the sort of moment to moment, factual stuff is written. so… I am typing out my diaries and emailing them to myself. I will, most importantly, sort out the bits I want to give to my children and husband– and the bits i do not!! I will take a hard look. Hindsight is 20/20 and a valuable source of spiritual growth.
I started this week, a little every couple of days. It will take me forever at this rate. But I have time. I am starting an email account for my baby, and I will try to keep up with it, and give my husband information about it so that he can access it for her if needed. I know if I lost a parent, their writing would be so precious to me.
Man. I have been so unhappy!
I have a friend (nobody you know) whose doctor asked her to go to rehab. It isn’t that she’s hit bottom or anything. She’s miserable, but she’s functioning and taking care of her children, and she knows she’s miserable and she’s working on it. It’s just that rehab would help her have some new thought patterns with which to address her life and habits. [hey, ifI had a penny for every time I made a really stupid, stupid choice... drank too much, and all that goes with it... I'd have at least ten bucks, you know? ] So… this sort of thing makes you take inventory.
Okay I lost that train of thought, and I have to go quickly to get myself and my baby ready to go to Pump It Up to play, but anyway…
Oh, there it is again. She said, I just want to know when I’ll be f*cking happy. I said, girl, I am almost forty and I am *just now* learning to be happy. I’m ten years older than she is. And… I am really learning to be happy. Just now.
So it’s hard to swallow, going back and revisiting all that unhappiness, especially now. But… there’s a point to it. I have some insights now I didn’t have then. I’m a bit ashamed or embarassed to have had such a hard time. But I did, and it’s mine, and revisiting it with compassion and hindsight will help truly lay some of those patterns and hurts to rest. Right now I sort of, just don’t do certain things any more. It’s behavioral, rather than emotional or spiritual. Going back to briefly honor, have compassion for, and integrate the emotions is where the true healing takes place.
So, in the words of some rap song… there I go. There I go. There I go, go, go. Maybe once I put this to rest some actual fiction can come out.
