Ghosts of personality past.
Dec. 27th, 2001 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathpixieI'm in something of a self-contemplative mood tonight. This can lead to no good.
I dug out my paper diary, the one whose first entry goes back to November 1989 (it wasn't a regular thing, my diary, more of something I used when I needed it). The year I met BRM, and started university - or the other way round. Reading over old diaries is like being visited by the Ghost of Adolescence Past. All those words, all that emotion, the heart-aches and the joy - it's like looking at a stranger. And yet I can still feel the remnants of that teenager, the uni student that was, and smile at her enthusiasms and feel the pain of her disappointments.
How things change, and how they remain the same.
I still use that diary, the one I always seemed to turn to when I felt I had no-one else I could talk to, no other forum. It's where the stuff I can't share goes, the things I prefer to keep to myself, and private. The things the online community don't need to know. The reason why such a small little book can cover such an expanse of time is that I didn't seem to need it that much - there's gaps, leaps of time, where things were going fine or I had the resources to cope on my own. Every so often, I find I still need it.
One of these days, and sometime soon, I hope, I will take that little red and black book and burn it. Because I won't need it any more.
But not yet.
I dug out my paper diary, the one whose first entry goes back to November 1989 (it wasn't a regular thing, my diary, more of something I used when I needed it). The year I met BRM, and started university - or the other way round. Reading over old diaries is like being visited by the Ghost of Adolescence Past. All those words, all that emotion, the heart-aches and the joy - it's like looking at a stranger. And yet I can still feel the remnants of that teenager, the uni student that was, and smile at her enthusiasms and feel the pain of her disappointments.
How things change, and how they remain the same.
I still use that diary, the one I always seemed to turn to when I felt I had no-one else I could talk to, no other forum. It's where the stuff I can't share goes, the things I prefer to keep to myself, and private. The things the online community don't need to know. The reason why such a small little book can cover such an expanse of time is that I didn't seem to need it that much - there's gaps, leaps of time, where things were going fine or I had the resources to cope on my own. Every so often, I find I still need it.
One of these days, and sometime soon, I hope, I will take that little red and black book and burn it. Because I won't need it any more.
But not yet.
