I don’t maintain a diary.
Actually, I should re-frame that. I used to maintain a diary, but now I seldom reach out to write in it. I’ve spent too much time tearing out pages from my diaries and filling up the trash bin; so I decided to write in it sparingly and never fill it with my deepest thoughts.
Because the fact is, when I read those entries written in anger, I am shocked. How did I write them? How did I even think of them? It’s not just dark, it is very, very cruel. And I shudder to think what would happen if anybody else in the world read them. I am a horrible person when I am truly angry. But that doesn’t imply that I actually mean those words, right? Not in reality.
No, it is better that they remain in my mind and then quietly fade away. I don’t want to be reminded of them. I don’t want to start constantly hating myself.
Personal diaries are the worst friends to have.
(Damn this writer’s block…)