What I’m doing and why I’m doing it—Journaling for Mental Health: A 30-Year Journey
We have brought home a dog from Florida. He’s a lab-mix. His name is Trouble and he is very frisky. He’s 6 months old and weighs 50 pounds! Besides a new dog, I’m happy. Sort of. My boyfriend, boyfriend #1 moved away. He was on my team. We only went together two days before he moved to different school. But I think all he had on his mind was sex though. Judging by his size, he probably would have gotten the job done too. But I wouldn’t know about that kind of stuff, because I’m still a virgin. Although I tell everybody I’m not. They all believe me. This other boy, boyfriend #2. Technically, he too is my boyfriend. He is totally in love with me. I used to be in love with him that much, but we’ve been going together for 7 months! He was the first boy I ever french kissed, made out with, and almost slept with. Something just died in our relationship. And since the underwear incident, I’m not allowed to go out with him. He has a girlfriend named girl #1. But he broke up with her because I told him it wasn’t going to work out between me and boyfriend #1. I can be myself around him. He’s the only boy I could do that around. But, still I only consider him my best friend. He wants to be more. I don’t. If boyfriend #1 were here, I wouldn’t have to worry about boyfriend #2.
I actually have butterflies creating this post. This is the very first entry of my very first journal and up until this moment, I am the only person who has ever read it. One of the rules I made for myself for this project was that I would always include the first and last entry from every journal. So I have to include this one and good grief I wish I didn’t make that rule because this entry is full of cringe. But, it’s where it started and I’m not editing out the parts that make me squirrely because of how awkward they sound.
In this process of publishing my journals, I also created a key for myself since I don’t want to include any specific names of people or places. Generic terms like, ‘boyfriend’, ‘crush’, etc. are appropriate. So are the numbers after them because in these early volumes, when teen angst reigned supreme, there were a lot of them. At some point, the numbers become arbitrary and I don’t expect anyone to be able to keep track. The 90210 level drama isn’t the point. What goes on in these early days lays the foundation for future mental health issues. Looking back, I see the signs.
When I started rereading these, I literally said out loud “Don’t make me do this”. I was so tempted to criticize and judge the girl who wrote this. But that’s the thing. She was just a girl. Literally only 13 years old. Friends were more important to her than anything. There was a lot of negative stuff happening at home at the time, but that’s not what she wrote about because that wasn’t her primary focus. It was boys and being accepted because as my therapist recently pointed out, I didn’t get that love and acceptance at home, so I sought it elsewhere. The irony is that I hardly remember these boys, if I remember them at all. The insecurity is painful to read. So is the cringey-ness, of which there is plenty. Particularly in this first entry. But, here it is anyway. The start of it all.
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