Some things never change

It's 9 p.m. and here I sit on my bed with a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough (I shouldn't be eating anything past supper), and self-reflecting. (In other words, making myself feel sorry for myself.)

I am reading through my old diaries... again. And 15 years ago, I was doing this very same thing. Except it was with a bowl of President's Choice chocolate fudge crackle ice cream and with a pen and paper (not my laptop).

And I didn't have a flashing blue light from my Smartphone distracting me as I wrote.

It is March 10, 1998 and I write:

As the snow swirls around
I gaze upon the beaming sun
My mind wanders upon thoughts
Thoughts I've never ventured
and some I may never want to
Others very deep and misunderstanding
I only feel challenged as to what to do next
No tears are shed from serious, sad thoughts
Nor smiles for grateful elations
I will wait and wait to feel something...anything

I love how my entries are riddled with poetry. And even though some I have no idea what they are about, it still brings back a feeling - that emotional connection to my words from a long time ago.

Here's a funny one I stumbled on titled "Men"

Their playing minds
are in all kinds
The sweetest of all
can be so dull
When adventure rules
Their apt to be fools

Although many of these stories of a life I have lived are painful and sorrowful, I can't help but see the growth in myself through my words. The writing improves, my vocabulary expands and my thoughts and issues evolved.

But then again, I see how really nothing has changed. I am still me... the same me I was 20 years ago when I began journaling. It paints a picture of a girl struggling to find herself; suffering from bouts of depression; and finding that inner strength to overcome whatever the problem may be.

Whether it was boys, my parents divorce, my diabetes diagnosis, or my own self-destruction, I always retreated to my pen and paper and somehow, someway, with words on a page, worked through it all.

I often wonder why I keep my diaries, but since reading them again, I have relearned who I am again.
Just a woman struggling to find herself, suffering from bouts of depression; and finding that inner strength.

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The Book of Me

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