I was ten years old when I got my 1st diary.
Admittedly, I wasn’t faithful in writing in it, after ten days, since we were on vacation in Florida and when we got home, well, there just wasn’t that much interesting happening at home. Over the next year, I’d record some hurtful incident at school, but when I discovered my younger sister had been reading it, well, that’s another story.
In the 7th grade, one of the things my English teacher required us to do was keep a small notebook and write a journal entry every day. She didn’t want to read it; just wanted us to get in the habit. She gave us fifteen minutes every day during class to write whatever we wanted, and the daily habit was my favorite part of the day. Even after continuing onto the 8th grade, I carried that notebook with me and wrote whenever I could. Unfortunately, I left it unattended one day, and it was passed around in class. I learned a valuable lesson that day, and began leaving it at home.
Mom noticed my daily habit, and started buying me the leather-bound journals from the bookstore, and every year at Christmas, I got a new one.
In college, I found my discarded diary and began writing in it every day, since I knew I wouldn’t get a new journal for at least three more months. But since it was small, I also began writing in a composition book, and told my mom I didn’t need the regular journal again.
After college, I had the misfortune of dating a guy who found my college memories, and verbally abused me until I voluntarily threw them away. I’d love to go back in time and slap myself upside the head….some of my memories are only triggered by pictures, or stories when my BFF and I get together, or even the random memory will pop into my head. Others are ingrained in my soul.
After I married, I kept up the habit here and there, especially after an argument. In 2007, blogging became my ‘journal’, but only the extremely private things are written down somewhere else. I’m really torn between putting in my will to have all these journals destroyed before I die, or leaving that provision out. The private me is quite different from the public me, in some instances, and I don’t know if my kids will be horrified or thrilled to learn their mom WAS a rebel.
What about you? Did you ever keep a diary or journal?
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This will be another busy weekend for me. I’m having a yard sale tomorrow, then setting up my booth at my city’s 1st PRIDE celebration. Sunday, I’m off to an Irish Festival. See you next week!