...when you come across old journals.

windmill in front of my parent's house

I recently discovered a show on Netflix called The Mortified Guide. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend it. There is also a corresponding podcast so look that up. 

Anyway, it's basically adults reading from their adolescent diaries and journals. Their framed as complete stories and all come full circle, and I'm obsessed. I'm already a huge fan of storytelling podcasts to begin with, but add to that an element of embarrassment and reading over old diaries, and how could you not be obsessed.

I actually wrote a memoir based off of my old diaries. This memoir is supposed to be serious, and dramatic, much like how it felt when I was writing those entries. I knew the feeling didn't translate for others, but I didn't realize that it would be more comedic than dramatic for the reader.

Having said all that, I'm going to go ahead and post some of my old diary entries. Maybe there will be a good story in one of them.

This first one I wrote about my first love. We were each other's "firsts" -- you know what that means -- so I had a hard time letting go.

I used to love his smell. It was the smell of comfort, of routine.
How could I possibly describe that?
It was just his smell. Scents are often connected to memories,
and I suppose that’s what it was—he smelled of memories.
I struggled for a long time to keep grasp of those memories,
and now I’ve forgotten.
I’ve forgotten the specific shade of his eyes, and the texture of his hands.
I’ve forgotten the sound of his laugh and the taste of his lips;
but his smell I can’t seem to forget.
We were together for over a year, my first love and I.
And while it was an amazing year, we were constantly
forcing together the seams of our relationship teddy bear—
knowing he would eventually lose his little arms and legs.
Putting aside our disagreements, I loved him completely.
When we began our journey together, we kept our eyes closed,
hoping to be surprised by love the whole way through—
instead finding ourselves constantly bumping into walls.
That’s what ultimately led to our destruction.
He never seemed to let anything hold him back—
thinking that he could fly above the walls,
but always leaving me behind. It was not all his fault.
No matter how much we seemed to want to be together,
we were similar magnets.
We do not speak much anymore. I can’t really describe the sound of his voice,
but his smell I still remember.

Firsts of all, his smell?? Gross. I'm surprised I hadn't noticed how funny this was before. I took it all so seriously. I was so in love. Plus, I was way too metaphorical. He cheated on me. And we broke up and got back together too many times to remember.

After my first love, I met and dated someone else, became obsessed--as I do--and was dumped. I did not get over that guy for like another 6 years. It was bad. This next and last entry was over a year and a half after we had broken up. I was dating someone else.

June 15, 2005
Do not call your ex boyfriend in a drunken rage, with anger in you bones just ready to kill any living thing in your path. Do not call this ex boyfriend and pretend to not think highly about him at all, for you know that you still do. And certainly do not pretend to not care about him anymore at all, because we all know that it's just a horrid lie. All of this will just lead to you saying horrible things that you just don't mean, which will result in him never wanting to talk to you again.. and even though this may seem like the most perfect thing in the world when you're doing all of this, it won't be. You'll end up regretting it all, only to call him a few months down the line, and feel more like an ass than ever.
Since that's been said, I can now proceed to tell you that I've done just that.. and tonight, on my way home, I'm thinking: Let's call Leo and see how he's doing. We'll have a nice little chat about nothing.. and who knows, it might be nice.. yea.. no.
I call him and first I can't hear a thing cause I'm blasting some Shakira song that's about love and what not, and my cell phone is being retarded. So even though I couldn't hear him, I'm sure he could hear my Shakira song.. what the hell would he have been thinking. He hangs up.. and I should've take this as a sign.. yea.. I didn't. I call him again, and this time he picks up. All the while I'm thinking: who is this that I'm talking to, because this can't possibly be him. His voice sounds so different, so unlike someone that I was in love with and completely devoted to for over a year. But it's him, just not that person anymore I guess. So yeah.. he's all like "umm.. who is this".. then I pull one of those dumb "guess" things. And I think he mumbled something that sounded like "who is this" or "Kristie". I tell him it's Jane.. and he's all like.. "oh.. well I'm at a get together with some friends right now." all I can say is "oh.. OK.. well I just had an urge to see how you were doing and thought of [bringing myself further pain by destroying my remaining ounces of dignity and] calling you. I guess I'll talk to you [never again since you'll never call me and after this, god knows i'm not going to be able to call you or] whenever.. bye" **click** You know what this means. This means that when I called him over two months ago because I wanted to talk and vent and let him know how I felt, and that I was sorry about that time when my judgement had been drenched in liquor, that day he said that he would get back to me in a month or so to arrange something.. because he was really busy with his life that didn't include me.. and that he'd call me when he felt ready, well he didn't even save my number.. hence him not knowing who it was.. therefore he clearly had no intention of calling me at all.
Please tie me up so that I can no longer torture myself the way I seem to do. I'm a little upset. I hate that I have to walk on egg shells with him. And not even with him.. but with the idea of him. There is no him... he's just this memory that I have and wish to keep touch with.. but it's not going to happen.
I feel strange. Nothing really definable.. just as if I have a hair out of place, and it's bothering me.. but I can't seem to identify the hair, let alone the problem. Alex and I had a bit of a quarrel today.. but I won't really get into that.. the only thing I'll say is that I refuse to be censored. God damn it. Somethings not right but I can't put my finger on it.. you know what it's like... it's kinda like when you feel like you've forgotten something at home.. and it's something that you can't turn around to go get, but still, you have absolutely no idea what it could be, yet you cant seem to silence that feeling.. That bullhorn of a feeling.
I wish I could read your mind. I wish I could look into your soul.. I wish you wouldn't push me away the way you do.. you don't even know you do it.. it's so subconscious. It's not all the time.. and I know it's not just the way you are, because just that.. it's not like that all the time. But sometimes you build this wall around yourself and it's hard enough for me to see you over that thing, let alone get to you. And it's not the fact that you're keeping something, it's that you feel that way because of some thing I've said and done.. and I know it, but you won't express to me what I've done wrong.. and then I have no control over the situation at all.. and lacking control is a horrible feeling. If you would just let me in, I could fix it. I promise. You just have to let me in.
I need Janelys in my life so badly. I didn't even know it was the way it is until today. I need her in my life. I need to talk to her.. I need to see her. I need her to bring me back down to reality when my head is carrying me away from everything.. with all these thoughts and emotions that I can't rationalize.
I need sleep.

🤦I don't even know what to say about that.

I was able to log into my old Live Journal account today so I think I'll put together a "Mortified" style story for you guys to read tomorrow. In the meantime, feel free to let me know how ridiculous I was, in the comments.