The Forgotten Journals

Tuesday, July 8, 2003: I found these old diary entries while poking around in the basement. Well, sort of. I actually found them while organizing files on my computer. What a difference a few years (and maybe the right drugs?) make. I still have some of the same fears, pain, desires. But they are grooves on my surface now. They add texture. They are not the same gaping holes that threatened to destablize my foundations for years. Even the pain I wrote about today is nothing compared to the agony I was in back then.

These are the diaries of a woman who was so desperately afraid to die that she couldn't live. The need to be recognized, to accomplish something, to be famous, paralyzing in its intensity. These are the cries of a girl who has since learned how to feel the desperation and not hide. Nowadays, she has little chats with her neuroses -- invites them to have green tea with her in the morning. She has discovered that she can cry on the BART train without dissolving because she knows that deep down inside, where the universe is empty and cold, everything has already dissolved.

Well, I'm leaving these diaries here in the basement. Since this web site is semi-public, I have decided to edit some of them. Certain thoughts are not appropriate for public consumption. Also, I have edited out some of the names so as not to hurt people who shouldn't be hurt. WARNING: I have left in some seriously R-rated language and mature (or immature, depending on your point of view) themes that are necessary to convey the intensity of emotion. So read at your own risk! Also, don't be put off by the span of over 3 years. Each group contains 5 or fewer entries. I wasn't very prolific, which, as you'll see, is the subject of most of the writing!