I must confess, sometimes I'm lazy to write in my journals. But I try to force myself to do it, even when I don't want to. I feel like writing in journals, or having a blog (or anything where you can register your thoughts and feelings) is magical, because it's the closest thing we have to a time machine. You write, years pass, then you sit and read it all again. All the words you wrote before. And the words you're writing now, you'll read them again one day...
I was writing in my current journal, which has a cover of Sarah Key, when I suddenly remember my journey from late 2021 to mid 2022. I thought about where I left it, and when I found it, I read it.
And wow. I cried.
I'm going to share some entries here. It hurts to think that I felt all of this before, and while I can't say that I'm much better now, at least I'm a little better.
December 27th, 2021
Leaf (poem)
I don't think it's autumn, but I'm falling.
My dainty body feels helpless as the wind pushes me to the ground;
Will somebody come and pick me up?
The people that walk by are wearing shorts, but the breeze for me is cold.
"The end is near", I think when I finally reach the floor.
Will somebody come and pick me up?
December 29th, 2021
What if I was never taught how to eat?
I will definitely die by the age of 22 (or younger). Not really because of suicidal behaviour (though that's likely to happen), but because of how incapable I am of taking care of myself.
Without even kidding: I'm worse than a baby!
The only thing that makes me want to live up until that age is the song "22" by Taylor Swift: I want to sing it when I turn 22. But only that.
I have more reasons to die than I have to live.
As much as I love my pets, they'd be dead if it weren't for my parents and brother. I'm just bad at existing. I can't do easy things. I can't believe this, but I suck at living. That's so lame.
No date
January 3rd, 2022
There's No Running! (poem)
You can't run, just pretend.
There's no running, only cheating.
Get up early to start faking.
Safely.
Doll-Maker (poem)
It was careful, gentle, soft.
I drew you a million times before putting myself to work.
Everything was thought: your face, your legs, your arms, your voice.
Life created a God. God created a doll.
But please don't destroy yourself, you're not a toy
Smile!
No date
No date
I can't believe you gave birth to me. That was your first mistake, because I hate this world and now, nothing makes me happy. Things don't bring me so much joy anymore. I haven't sang in days, that's weird but I can't. I can't believe how much of a hypocrite you are - you say you love me and then you treat me like a piece of shit. It seems like you're the only person who's allowed to have problems. You don't even know that I haven't been eating properly, I've been over exercising and I plan to go the whole week without eating. I want to be in a hospital, I want the doctors to tell you that I'm about to die. Because I truly can't go on. But you don't know that, do you? Of course you don't.
Around that time, I fell asleep everyday thinking of how it would be like to be in a hospital and having my parents worrying about me.
After reading this entry, I wrote this in my current journal:
(today, January 12th, 2023): Maybe I behaved like an idiot, maybe I was really a victim and, probably both. But I don't care. I'm gonna start again. And hopefully, I'll get to say "Today was a fairytale".
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