Mortified Mondays: 8 years ago

Lucky for you (or not), I found my old journal in the way end of the my bro's closet a few days ago. My journal entries are much different (and longer) than my diary entries...What do you mean what do I mean? You'll see.

As I opened my journal for the first time in over 5 years, I was amazed at the things that I've written. You may beg to differ, but I find it so much more interesting to read my journal than my diary. I tried really hard to choose a random entry (Rule #1), but I couldn't exactly do it; hence, my entry from exactly 8 years ago. I was 18 years old and still trying to figure myself out before I began my 2nd year of college.

September 18, 1998~

Today, tonight, I am feeling a little off (in a different way, of course). It's kind of like something's happening within me but I can't put a finger on it. I've been hungry all day and biting my fricken nails still. I kind of feel this sadness. Go figure. Guh also brought home Mom's gift for me and my birthday. I started putting on this funky leafed Thailand shirt and I'm like, "Who does Mom think I am?" in a tripped out tone, and Guh's like, "Her daughter." Oooh. Man. I don't know why I'm tripping. I totally feel like I need a transition from here to there, Rancho Cuckoomando to San Weedego, summer to fall, family to roommates. But there's no where to go. I can't just disappear. I think I just figured out this phase that I'm going thru this evening: I feel like every other person hates me or doesn't like me. Insecurity, I tell you. At its best/worst. I hate when I feel like I have to play up to meeting people's expectations. It's like my life's become this challenge of filling this image that people have created for me. The weed-out thing is, is that the image had to have come from somewhere...like me perhaps? Somehow. Image becomes too much.

Now I remember ~ I kept my diary for condensed reports of my immature crushes and heartaches. My confidential journal is where a lot of my self-discovery takes place. My bro originally bought it for me in HS when I was having a weird phase of disturbing nightmares for consecutive nights (I can still vividly recall one, even though it was 9 years ago). My UCLA pre-psychologist bro instructed me to write my nightmares down in details and try to self-analyze. So I did when I remembered...but the journal become so much more than a record of dreams and nightmares. It became my way of figuring myself out.

FYI: I have no idea what I meant by "weed-out" and this is definitely one of my shorter entries!