My parents are in the process of moving to a new house and I went over a couple of weekends ago to help them pack stuff up. In the process, out came many boxes that had been put into storage many years ago and never thought of again. In one of these boxes was a diary I kept the year I was 17. It's a 400-page notebook, and every millimeter of every page, both sides, is full of stuff.
Here are some samples, taken at random, so you can see what a weirdo I was. (Nb use of the past tense.) The best part about this is everything is so out of context that I have no idea what crises I was referring to. Brace yourself.
Beset by confusion and feelings of overwhelm...Should be asleep. Overwhelmed not so much by things to do but by opportunities wasted. Hours I could have filled but instead forgot, or slept through. Dollars I ate away with food I didn't really want and knew would make me fat. Also the knowledge of all the futilities yet to come.
How did my mother not kill me?
Can't dont know what to do certain of bringing down ruin on self & others just ARGH is only something could have happened to have made this easier but I think the easiness factor of the situation has reached a parabolic vertex. The worst part about the whole thing is I can't even isolate what I want, never mind dissect it.
[Lots of mixed sciences. I imagine this was referring to a crush on someone because I can't figure out what else I could be talking about.]
Furthermore, it is plastered full of pictures, memorabilia, poetry I used to write, and other add-in pages. It's pretty amazing.
I was a compulsive diarist. This particular diary is only one of many I kept before I went to college. Is anyone else like this?