I finally gave in and started to read through some of my diary entries. They start just under shy of 10 years ago in Nov 98 and they go on for about 3 years. I find myself flinching after reading every few lines. My memories aren't particularly painful, but it reminds me of someone who's so distant now. It may be distant, but it still feels like inside of me just pooling up in little pockets of unresolved reflection.
Some things seemed so important then that are trivial now. A lot of it is silly junk like how I used to obsess about Starcraft, and video games. I spent Christmas Eve in 98 playing Metal Gear Solid. Hahaha. My addiction with video games still carries through to today, but I wouldn't find myself writing about it in a diary.
Then some entries are damaging. There was somebody I wanted to talk to and get to know, but I never got a chance or didn't try. And now it's too late.
There are the ramblings of dreams and hopes I had then, now just fading reminders of what I perceive now to be as impossibilities and taken avenues. Silly ideas of where I would go to school. I was a pretty hopeful 15 year old back then. I'm a little more pessimistic now.
I'm finding it harder and harder to turn the page. And I cannot bring myself to throw it out. These memories are a part of me I still need to come to terms with and accept. Or bury them forever. Resolving one's memories is something I didn't think I had to do. I didn't think I had a bad childhood, but I guess any life experience has its own depth and magnitude that overall happiness itself can not measure.