For a moment, I was safe with you.
I always aspired to be a great writer. Whether that was writing novels, journalism, or just my own private thoughts...I was going to be great. I started writing a book in high school. It was a cheap thriller book, along the lines of the movie Scream or something. A tale of two people who fell in love, then one of them died and came back to haunt his ex when she tried to move on. I wrote 14 chapters of that book, and then put it in a box in my mother's basement where it sits to this day. She'll stumble across it someday when she decides to tackle the mess down there, and she'll remember all the times she pushed me to do what I knew I was good at. Writing. "You have a way with words, Bethany."
I started my first journal around November of 2001. It was a 79 cent spiral notebook. At first it started with "dear diary" kinds of entries. Today my boyfriend and I had a fight. I don't know who I am. I love my new job. I miss my best friend. I tried to make it special by adding magazine cutouts, clips from emails, photos, etc. It was all I had at one of the lower times in my life. When I got to the end of the notebook I felt a sense of loss. It was new for me. I was so used to pouring all my emotions onto the pages of that notebook, the thought of starting a new one seemed daunting. But I did it. Eventually I filled 3 of those notebooks, and put them in a binder along with countless entries I typed and printed while I was working. And then I discovered online journals, a total convenience for my chaotic life.
Since then, I have had 3 LiveJournals and 2 Melodramatic accounts. I lost myself in the process.
I run from everything that happens to me. I don't even know how to separate myself anymore.
I wanted to be someone great.
All I'm left with is someone I barely know.
I started my first journal around November of 2001. It was a 79 cent spiral notebook. At first it started with "dear diary" kinds of entries. Today my boyfriend and I had a fight. I don't know who I am. I love my new job. I miss my best friend. I tried to make it special by adding magazine cutouts, clips from emails, photos, etc. It was all I had at one of the lower times in my life. When I got to the end of the notebook I felt a sense of loss. It was new for me. I was so used to pouring all my emotions onto the pages of that notebook, the thought of starting a new one seemed daunting. But I did it. Eventually I filled 3 of those notebooks, and put them in a binder along with countless entries I typed and printed while I was working. And then I discovered online journals, a total convenience for my chaotic life.
Since then, I have had 3 LiveJournals and 2 Melodramatic accounts. I lost myself in the process.
I run from everything that happens to me. I don't even know how to separate myself anymore.
I wanted to be someone great.
All I'm left with is someone I barely know.