Meeting 14-year-old Me

Me at 14 -- what was I trying to escape?

Contrary to what you might think after reading my more recent posts, I’m generally a very optimistic and idealistic person. People who know me well will tell you that I’m hopelessly naïve. I like it that way. I never want to lose my ability to look for the best in people and believe in them to choose good over evil. I never want to lose my trusting nature — perhaps, I could use a little more caution in my relationships, however. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I dive into others’ arms without abandon. Which is, in my opinion, a good thing. The best people and events in my life are due to my seemingly reckless lifestyle; I would never trade the relationships I’ve encountered for the avoidance of a few scrapes and bruises.

Considering all of this, I was very shocked by what I saw when I delved into my childhood self tonight. I’m home right now for Thanksgiving and my mom mentioned that she found one of my old diaries in my drawer. I thought that it would be one of those embarrassing “Dear, diary, today this cute boy…” kind of entries. It wasn’t, to say the least. I admit that it was partially melodramatics but I found a few excerpts that are raw with honesty.

“Anyways, the reason I wanted to talk to you is that if I don’t get my feelings out, I’ll go crazy. I feel like I’m lost and alone in this world. I have nothing to be upset about, yet I feel so angry. It’s like a monster inside of me, breaking out suddenly and eating me from the inside out…I want to jump off a cliff and break all of my bones.”

And this:

“I don’t think it’s my mother that I’m so mad about. I don’t even know what it is. I just feel rage bubbling inside of me. I feel hatred. I don’t know what for. Life, I guess. God? I just want to live without thinking about everything.”

The entry is the dated 6/3/06, four days after my 14th birthday. Rewind a few years, switch diary with journal and you have this, dated 4/15/04:

“I skated all right but I really don’t want to skate. When I woke up today I wanted to kick something because I was so angry that I needed to skate today…Today was okay but it’s still the biggest relief to be done with skating.”

And finally, the last entry in this particular journal on 6/14/04:

“I HATE skating I H-A-T-E skating FUCK YOU skating! Go to hell! I would like to murder the person who invented skating. MURDER. Why do I HAVE TO skate? I don’t believe in God. If God loved me, I wouldn’t be skating now.”

This is followed by about ten pages worth of “I HATE it” scrawled in angry penmanship over the entire page.

I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. I guess I have anger issues, huh? I’m just not sure if I’ve gotten over the rage I clearly harbored as an adolescent or it’s merely buried somewhere deep within me. Maybe I’ve forgotten about that girl who was in such a dark place because I ran from her the first chance I got. Was I right to run from that? Or did I run away from myself in the process also?

Thinking back, I spent ages 1-3 blissfully ignorant (for the most part), 4-10 scared to death, 11-14 angry and bitter, and 15-18 running away/abusing myself. Now, at 19? I suppose I’m cleaning up the mess that was me.

Are you ever surprised by the anger in you? Do you still have feelings of resentment? What were they caused by and how are you dealing with them?

Salut,

R

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