| December 25th, 2001 I have always thought that it would be best for me to keep a journal. I have always known that someday, as an adult, a parent, anytime in my adult life, I would wonder how I felt under certain circumstances and what I had done, what had crossed my mind, how I handled things. I have always made an attempt. I have usually failed. I have brief chunks of my life accounted for in my various diaries, but it was never consistent. I suppose I am making yet another attempt. It is easier for me to type. Writing by hand seems like a burden, and something that takes too much effort. I don't really know why. Lately I have been thinking about myself a lot. Maybe it's just the typical teenage quest for self-discovery. I would like to think that it is more significant than that. I often think how meaningless these little doubts I have in my life will be when I look in hindsight. In truth, in the big picture, many parts of my life right now will not matter. And realistically, the way I feel on this day in the course of my life probably won't matter much either. But it is important to me now, doesn’t that make it important? I want so badly to understand who I am. I struggle with it all the time. I wonder why I open up certain aspects of myself to some people and not others. Is it even possible to be all of myself at once? It hurts me when my friends, people so close to me who I trust so dearly have no idea that I am even remotely capable of thinking in a certain way or feeling a certain way. I feel like there should be at least one person in this world who knows the real me. But I don't even know the real me. Every thing I think is all stupidly idealistic. It's not realistic. I wish I could be more sure of myself. I wish I could step back and objectively take a look at myself. But I can't. All this self-searching just makes me dislike myself more and more. Is that the way this is supposed to be? Am I just afraid of what I might find if I search even deeper? Is this even really me talking or just some idea that someone planted inside my head. How do I even know when I am being honest with myself? All I can do is hope for clarity. But chances are, I may never get it. I hope for understanding, to somehow understand myself. To think a thought and compile an opinion without having to challenge myself. Times like these, where I have this big mess of a storm going on in my head make me feel lonely. Because essentially, I'm the only one that knows about this storm. I know myself the best, even if I don't completely know myself. This has to occur inside of me alone, and that is lonely. |
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| *Note: When I started writing down my thoughts, the role of my entries was simply as a diary, as this entry shows. Therefore, this entry is somewhat different from all of the other ones. |