This is Your Life!

My journaling homework is not quite complete, but I've reached a good pausing point.  I have ingested, over the last week and a half, my self from 14-24. 

It was mostly unpleasant. Decidedly embarrassing.

It was not at all the history of things I thought it would be.  Or rather, for clarification, it was NOT at all what my 14 to 22-year-old self imagined I was capturing for future reference, but almost what my 31-year-old self imagined, except worse.

I am disappointed with myself for not noting all those moments that mattered so much, moments I can still recall; they floated around my mind around the words I was reading, searching for some sign of the significant things in my life.  I imagined someday I would let my daughter read all my about my crazy antics. 

Instead all (but a few torn out quirky episodes, starts of stories, mini-chapters to my someday novellas, and EVEN some amazingly poignant and insightful heart/pen bleeds) are now thrown behind my couch, out of sight, and awaiting a ritualistic letting go of all the idiotic things I did, said, obsessed over.  I have no doubt now it WILL contain flame.  Can't release all that into the universe in any form but ashes.

I am happy (? no, not happy, relieved) that after college my journaling became less obsessive, more filled with daily tasks, cares, worries (not always related to boys), and more stories and self-insight.  I kept the most from my last two journals (being 22/23 and beginning 24-years-old).

And I have many people to thank and to whom I owe apologies, those who stuck through it all with me (Sunny, Angel, Samantha).  How did you ever (do you still) put up with THAT?  I owe us all an apology.

I think also to those who did give up on me. I can't blame you.  I am So Sorry.  I think you have distanced yourself even beyond reading these pages, but I hope the Universe signals you somehow.  Perhaps just a kind thought about something happy and hopeful we once shared.   That would be enough.

I have another leg to go - starting with being pregnant.  I think, now, I am most scared of this journey.  This immediately painful past that, although I am certainly in a brighter and more cognizant portion of the path, is looming just behind me.  But it has to be for the best.  To see one's faults and to stare them in the eye and try to make amends - isn't that why I have been driven to write?  My own presentiment for loss should now be turned towards gaining peace.