Journals

I have some lovely ones! However, I don't use them the way that most people do. If I ever write something down that could be painful for someone else to read after my death, then I destroy it. I might let it sit for a few days but not for long - too afraid of hurting anyone.

I could use the excuse of what happened at my grandmother's 100th birthday party as a justification but I was already destroying diaries and journals long before then. Ah, what happened at her birthday? My aunt had put all of my grandmother's journals on display and my siblings had a lovely time reading about me - and the falsehoods that my father had told my grandmother in order to make himself sound good (and pitiful).  That stung. I never read the passages myself because I didn't want to suddenly hate my own grandmother - and, besides, I knew that it was lies that my dad had told - she was just recording what she knew.

My childhood diaries were destroyed before I got married. Some of what was written in them was made up anyway since I discovered that my mother was reading my diary when I was in high school. I'm anal - I place things in certain ways when I display my treasures. My mother always moved them. The icing on the cake was the time that I came home and discovered my mother and one of her friends lying across my bunk bed and listening to my records. I don't like that kind of invasion of privacy.

I'm also extremely protective because of what I suffered throughout my childhood. Let's just say that I finally received a diagnosis of PTSD when I was in my 30s because of it.

And, later, much much much later, when I discovered what my husband was doing on the internet, I first collected all of the evidence. It filled a huge folder. After the civil divorce (we are still married  in the eyes of the Church), I saw no point in keeping any of it. What did I want to prove - and to whom??? That I was wronged? Well, yes, I was - but does anyone need to know the details? And, well, there's always that possibility that I could die leaving stuff like that around.

What's frustrating about all of this is that I have never felt "safe" enough to write and keep details and thoughts of my life. I would love to record and analyze and feel as though I've learned something about myself - or just to pass on memories (although I'm forgetting them) - but I can't bring myself to do it. What do I want in this life? Well, heck, I don't know and you won't find any lists about it either.

You'll find lists of names and their meanings that I love, genealogy information,  of books that I've read and enjoyed (or still want to someday own), of shows and movies that speak to me, of favorite singers and actors, saints and prayers, etc. I can write things like that. Of my studies, whether it's biology, or language, or math, etc. - I write and re-write. I actually love to write.

I used to say that I had a book in me. I'm not so sure about that anymore. I do however have my words published anonymously in a book. So that's something. Even one of my poems was printed in one of my yearbooks - you'll never guess which one - and it was unsigned. Only two people know that it's mine.

Journals - I keep lists and addresses and birthdays. Everything else just reverberates in my head and I rarely share those thoughts with anyone. My brain is a daily cacophony of noise and conversation that no one will ever hear or know.

And there you have it. That's me. Which reminds me, I should sift through more of my journals and lists to see what else I should be sure to destroy.

Dreams and stress

For the first time that I can ever remember, I dreamt about my stepfather this afternoon. He was standing straight and tall once again -- not in a wheelchair or hooked up to oxygen. He was building a house - I was there with a little one (mine or a grandchild?) - I don't know. However, we I were in a large room with lots of lights on the walls (54?) and, at one end, a fast food counter had just been installed (and staffed!). I remember that we were ordering cheeseburgers and fries right before I woke up.

I woke up so disoriented - and in pain. I had been been suffering from stomach cramps since my migraine last night. I wasn't feeling hungry - but it did get much worse when it was time to eat throughout the day. Finally decided to drink a beer with dinner - guess what?? - my stomach is feeling so much better. Drinking another beer while I catch up on some K-dramas this evening.

Stress. What's my next move? What do I do? I feel so incompetent nowadays.