Long Lost
I guess it's only been 3 years, livejournal. I recently even remembered that this existed and was equally as shocked when I remembered my password. Which, actually, isn't that surprising because it's the same password I've used for multiple accounts over the years. I decided to maybe try this whole blog thing again as something to be therapuetic, because obviously seeing a therapist maybe once a month isn't gonna cure this so-called depression. On the other hand, I feel like people who blog do so because they feel what they have to say is important- a concept I've never thought of for myself.
Upon logging into said account, I went back and reread my entries, the first being from January 2004. A few hours later and a lot of editing, I made sure that the renderings of my 13-16 year old mind are locked away visible only to myself or the 6 people I'm friends with that also, most likely don't remember that jermany52 even exists.
Rereading my old thoughts were/are rather embarrassing, a phenomenon I doubt will ever stop- I embarrass myself on a daily basis. From the abbreviations to pictures to self-composed acronyms (NEFLIS, for example, Nothing Ever Feels Like It Should) to the things I would say to my friends... I also kind of found it interesting that in the time period of 6 years, I haven't really changed much, mood-wise anyways- I was always sad/mad about something and I still seem to be the same Debbie Downer I was once. Most of all, I was horrified how blatantly I blamed my friends for all my "pain" that was most likely self-inflicted to begin with. I guess melodramatic would be an accurate word to describe me then. From my last post, I found a journal that 2 of my friends kept from me....about me. Rereading old entries, I guess I can't really blame them- I was such a bitch. I'm not sure who would be more disappointed in this situation, the current version of me or my younger versions looking at me now.
However, I've mellowed out more and get mad less, at least openly mad. I find that keeping things to myself causes less problems although it's probably not the best course of action in most cases. Lyrics to sad songs still plague my thoughts often but AIM and ICQ and Myspace are no longer my means of expressing them. I don't know why I'm talking about myself this much- I guess so in another 3 years I can compare?
Anyways, the self-inflicted pain part from above reminds me of an essay I wrote for my comp. class fall semester of freshman year at Duquesne. I chose Wuthering Heights, as it is my favorite book (before all the Twi-hards who misinterpret it for some great love story) and it was hopefully the last essay I'll ever write, doubtful but wishful. When I first started, I wanted to write about emotional abuse in relationships. However, it soon evolved into how anyone who partakes in romantic relationships merely commits emotional-masochism. I guess I got a little carried away and before I knew it I was getting my essay back with a huge, red B circled at the top of the first page. I'm guessing Dr. N didn't agree and I don't think that even I agreed with what I was writing (Um, how about a HUGE subliminal hint to how my current relationship was going).
Thinking about it now, is there any truth in it? First, wanting a relationship is selfish because in reality, wanting anything sorta kinda is. And once you get into it, you compromise leading to selflessness but giving up what you really wanted. So which is worse: wanting something or giving it up? What about when you don't get what you want or take what you wanted for granted? Wouldn't that all destroy a person in the end? Who the hell knows- but thinking like that is a good indication as to why (as said above) I'm always seemingly sad about life in general.
That reminds me of a conversation I had with my mom not too long ago...she said to me, "Alli, when were you ever really 'Woo-hoo!' about anything?" My answer was I never get excited about things because "good things" never seem to last. Shari then something that caught me off guard, because profundity is not her strong suit. "Life is a series of moments, some "Woo-hoo!" and others that get you down. It's the good moments that make the bad a little easier to deal with." Further along in the conversation, a conversation my mother had with my grandfather many years ago before his death. She asked him if there were an age he'd like to go back and stay at and he answered, "Well, it wouldn't be right now."
I often find myself wasting my present worrying about my past or future events that most likely won't even occur. When I'm in my 70s, what if I wanted to be 19 again? I feel like I'm wasting my life. I want to live. In Florida on spring break this year, I've never felt more limitless or free. Going back to "real life," I had this overwhelming sense of sadness that I'm somehow not living the life I want to. I feel pressured to "make something of myself", start a career after I graduate (in 5 years, Lord Almighty...), and somehow move along into some version of seemingly typical life. What if I don't want that? Once again, I feel like life is happening to me and I'm not truly living it.
"What if my life, my entire conscious life, was simply not the real thing?" (George Orwell, 1984)
Upon logging into said account, I went back and reread my entries, the first being from January 2004. A few hours later and a lot of editing, I made sure that the renderings of my 13-16 year old mind are locked away visible only to myself or the 6 people I'm friends with that also, most likely don't remember that jermany52 even exists.
Rereading my old thoughts were/are rather embarrassing, a phenomenon I doubt will ever stop- I embarrass myself on a daily basis. From the abbreviations to pictures to self-composed acronyms (NEFLIS, for example, Nothing Ever Feels Like It Should) to the things I would say to my friends... I also kind of found it interesting that in the time period of 6 years, I haven't really changed much, mood-wise anyways- I was always sad/mad about something and I still seem to be the same Debbie Downer I was once. Most of all, I was horrified how blatantly I blamed my friends for all my "pain" that was most likely self-inflicted to begin with. I guess melodramatic would be an accurate word to describe me then. From my last post, I found a journal that 2 of my friends kept from me....about me. Rereading old entries, I guess I can't really blame them- I was such a bitch. I'm not sure who would be more disappointed in this situation, the current version of me or my younger versions looking at me now.
However, I've mellowed out more and get mad less, at least openly mad. I find that keeping things to myself causes less problems although it's probably not the best course of action in most cases. Lyrics to sad songs still plague my thoughts often but AIM and ICQ and Myspace are no longer my means of expressing them. I don't know why I'm talking about myself this much- I guess so in another 3 years I can compare?
Anyways, the self-inflicted pain part from above reminds me of an essay I wrote for my comp. class fall semester of freshman year at Duquesne. I chose Wuthering Heights, as it is my favorite book (before all the Twi-hards who misinterpret it for some great love story) and it was hopefully the last essay I'll ever write, doubtful but wishful. When I first started, I wanted to write about emotional abuse in relationships. However, it soon evolved into how anyone who partakes in romantic relationships merely commits emotional-masochism. I guess I got a little carried away and before I knew it I was getting my essay back with a huge, red B circled at the top of the first page. I'm guessing Dr. N didn't agree and I don't think that even I agreed with what I was writing (Um, how about a HUGE subliminal hint to how my current relationship was going).
Thinking about it now, is there any truth in it? First, wanting a relationship is selfish because in reality, wanting anything sorta kinda is. And once you get into it, you compromise leading to selflessness but giving up what you really wanted. So which is worse: wanting something or giving it up? What about when you don't get what you want or take what you wanted for granted? Wouldn't that all destroy a person in the end? Who the hell knows- but thinking like that is a good indication as to why (as said above) I'm always seemingly sad about life in general.
That reminds me of a conversation I had with my mom not too long ago...she said to me, "Alli, when were you ever really 'Woo-hoo!' about anything?" My answer was I never get excited about things because "good things" never seem to last. Shari then something that caught me off guard, because profundity is not her strong suit. "Life is a series of moments, some "Woo-hoo!" and others that get you down. It's the good moments that make the bad a little easier to deal with." Further along in the conversation, a conversation my mother had with my grandfather many years ago before his death. She asked him if there were an age he'd like to go back and stay at and he answered, "Well, it wouldn't be right now."
I often find myself wasting my present worrying about my past or future events that most likely won't even occur. When I'm in my 70s, what if I wanted to be 19 again? I feel like I'm wasting my life. I want to live. In Florida on spring break this year, I've never felt more limitless or free. Going back to "real life," I had this overwhelming sense of sadness that I'm somehow not living the life I want to. I feel pressured to "make something of myself", start a career after I graduate (in 5 years, Lord Almighty...), and somehow move along into some version of seemingly typical life. What if I don't want that? Once again, I feel like life is happening to me and I'm not truly living it.
"What if my life, my entire conscious life, was simply not the real thing?" (George Orwell, 1984)