Journaling is vital.
I have kept a journal on and off since grade school.
My father read it twice.
Narcissus read it too.
It's interesting how men that love can become so invasive, possessed even, to try and understand all they believe you aren't telling them.
And this of a girl who will never embody the adage Silence is Golden.
Mostly in my twenties I've journaled about men. Let's be honest, that's how I've spent a good portion of my time. It's what I spent a lot of time analyzing, pining over, scheming, plotting, agonizing, delighting in. Men. This year, was and was not the exception. The difference was that the most recent prince I embraced, I didn't journal about at all. Quite possibly, if memory serves me, this made Prince Charming the first guy in this decade I had dated and not wrote about in a diary. Of course, I also never blogged before so you could argue that there's that. But it didn't include the details I'd usully capture.
He leaned over with his head on his hands, gazing at me longingly and told me he hadn't been able to eat, that I made his gut quiver. "We're insane," he laughed. And then he leaned over bringing my face to his and kissed me.
Sentimental crap like that. I'd capture every narcissistic nuance and mushy moment and every harsh frightening one too. I wanted to remember. It was like I secretly always knew the relationship was fleeting and was desperately trying to capture it, like I needed a tactile way to hold onto a memory I knew I'd eventually forget. Yet with PC somehow the moments were still so vibrant and alive in my mind in spite of the drifting feeling that it was all already so long ago.
Maybe that's why he was the only one I hadn't kept a journal about. I didn't have that sinking sense it was fleeting. I sensed it was different. I sensed it could have a different ending. I sensed I didn't need to write all that was because I was living it.
But there's also another reason journaling is vital.
It documents all the things you will yourself to forget.
When I write, I write honestly, every vulnerable, ugly, desperate, selfish thought. And understandably, many of those thoughts are ones I have trouble rereading.
I opened up an envelope tonight of letters I'd kept for Mr. Indecisive, convinced that one day, someday, I would give them to him.
June 25, 2010: "I don't want to just stop eating to get skinny and attract the wrong kind of men and be tempted for revenge (I don't care if you say it's over in your mind; I know it will hurt you if you found out I was with other guys). That's why I have to make sure each decision I make is from the Spirit, not my selfish flesh."
Sometimes writing can foreshadow, sometimes it can enlighten, sometimes in its distortion, it can mask.
As I stumbled upon more writings, dots were connected between actions that still seemed unreal. I revealed that our two tattered souls had twisted simultaneously, likely the same eve, from different pains but craving the same cure: change. He had recounted to me that within those days leading up to our big night he'd said, I feel like you don't even like me very much. And she, not hearing the question, reacted in anger. I, unable to hope in an illusion, wrote this, a letter that somehow shed light on all that would begin within four days of it's writing. Neither of us knew, yet somehow we were each secretly aware that we were actively hunting for something.
We merely remained unawares we'd each be waiting for one another, allowing the hunt, even willing all that would ensue.
I feel numb. I have so much rage I don't know what to do with it. I can't believe how much I like running now. Hate gives me a drive I haven't had in a long time.
I hope I never see you again. I hope you always have confusion over why I disappeared from your life. I hope your heart hurts as much as mine does. I hope you can feel in your soul how I've given up on you entirely. All that time, all those loving words I poured out to you, the prayers I uttered, the tears I shed. You never loved me. You never cared about me. You used me. You took what you wanted and left. And you said mean things about me. So now everyone connected to you thinks I'm some monster. And you are such a coward.
What a fool I was. I never want to get married. I never want to see you again. I hope someday you want me back so I can say NO. I wish I would have forwarded her email to you so you could read her venom and know she was reading your emails. But you don't care. You'd just laugh about me behind my back, 'How pathetic,' you'd say, 'She thinks I care about her.'
I went for a walk and fought back tears. I saw four airplanes today. I don't believe anymore. I sat on the curb and saw the first star in the sky and I wanted to make a wish. And I didn't know what to wish for. I realized I don't have any wishes. I started to cry. I got up and started back to my house and when I turned the corner there was a plane. And I cried harder and then another plane crossing the other direction. Six planes today. And I wasn't looking for them. I don't want to see them anymore. You don't see me. You never saw me. I want God to change my heart. I want to feel nothing toward you just as you feel nothing toward me. You're just another boy, I was wrong. I'm always wrong. I'm done being wrong. I'm tired.
November 2, 2010: Sometimes getting what you want is the most frightful thing of all.
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