Category Archives: cynicism

The teenage diaries

I did have a bit of teen angst in my old diaries, but the depression made everything worse. Some people on facebook were sharing things about shows where people can go to share their old diary entries and make fun of their teenage selves, and so I went to look at mine, but I can’t laugh at it.

I still feel the pain, so well. I remember the knives, the pills, the darkness… and the darkness’s sweet embrace that was always just out of reach… My entries either read as a Captain’s Log play by play on things we did, or it’s a whirlwind of confusing emotions and me trying to process it all, ending with how exhausted, emotionally, I was, and how I was just tired of the pain.

“Oh that the darkness had taken me! I would welcome that darkness with open arms, if only to be rid of the pain… silent agonies… ripping at my heart, tearing my soul apart… and there’s no one to tell…”

I wish I could laugh at my teenage self for well, being a teenager, but I remember it too well. And besides, I wouldn’t laugh at a teenager who came to me upset over something I thought trivial. That’s what being a teenager is about, experiencing new and very extreme emotions, and trying to figure them out. Sadly, some teens have to deal with things like anxiety and depression along with everything else. And I cannot laugh at that, and I feel bad because I should be able to laugh at myself. I can laugh at stupid things I’ve said, like “I’d rather die than commit suicide!” (I think I was 9?). But I can’t laugh at the pain I was in, and everything else I wrote was pretty boring, like a news article.

“I wonder what plane I will fly in next. I sort of know, but I don’t know what it looks like. As big as a 747? That’s what I flew in on the way here. I don’t feel like I’m in Korea… I don’t know what I feel. Except that I feel no fear. None. I get a little nervous here and there… but not like I thought. I feel very comfy with not being able to speak the language (the security guards wear berrets!) 🙂 I wonder how it will go when I meet up with Wang Xin. Because it will be her country and language. Such an old and complicated language too! I hope I can learn it well and fast. My brother seems to have a knack to pick up languages. He speaks Japanese quite well, though for some reason doesn’t like Chinese. Oh well.”

When I write, it’s to transfer information, or to try to organize my thoughts or just get my feelings out. Like when I have a conversation with someone, phrases mean things to me whereas they’re just filler for other people. I don’t say things I don’t mean, and I don’t ask questions unless I really want to know the answer. My journals are the same, cataloging my days, my emotions, and what happened when. I have stacks of notebooks full of stuff, and it’s interesting to watch me go from being excited about having people to hang out with, to being flat out confused as to why they suddenly stopped caring about me, why they were lying to me, using me, and back stabbing me. It made me so cynical and now I don’t trust anyone.

I will not become attached to anyone again. I will not be used unless I say so (there are some situations where I’m meh about it, and will allow it because it’s no big deal). And since I can’t tell who has selfish motives most of the time, I treat everyone the same. I expect nothing in return, so when I get nothing, I’m not disappointed. I expect people to ditch out on me, because it’s happened so many times. For once, I’m not upset that my husband didn’t get me anything for my birthday. I would prefer it if my birthday ceased to exist, I think. I have more important things to worry about than whether or not someone forgot the day I was born. Again.

I may be rather jaded and bitter and cynical right now, but I won’t let that get in the way of wanting to help people. I just wish I had more to laugh at in my journals…

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