September 25, 1992

I hate school! I thought it would be a great year, what a joke. It doesn’t matter what courses I’m taking I’m still me.

                                      The eternal problem.

And the fact that I feel nauseous every day doesn’t help. I think I’m seriously sick… let’s not speak of such unpleasantries. Excuse me while I go cry and fantasize my way to sleep.

                                    I’m not sure what this nausea was about, unless it was menstrual. Before I started taking birth control pills I got my period about every three weeks and it was brutal. I’ve been known to throw up in public places more than once because of this problem. The nausea could have also been anxiety though. When I was a child I had chronic stomach aches and when I complained about it to my mother she brought me to a doctor who told me there was nothing wrong. That was one of the first times I learned not to trust/listen to doctors (that deserves a rant of its own which I’ll save for another day). In any case, it was only thirty years later that the medical community finally acknowledged the connection between stomach pain and anxiety, especially in children. When I read a few of the articles referring to these studies the lightbulb clicked and I realized this was what I’d been suffering from my entire childhood.

October 11, 1992

Since Michelle (my sister’s friend) came over for Thanksgiving supper she had us say all the stuff we were thankful for. All I said was that I was thankful Star Trek TNG plays everyday and has a new season and that the Young Indianna Jones Chronicles plays. Pretty sad, eh?

                                    Yeah, sad. Fictional characters were, at that time, my only friends. Today I’m happy to report that I also have one or two IRL friends, so… progress!

fictional-characters-need-our-emotions-more-than-real-life-people

August 19, 1992

I did finally clean my room the other day. Last Sunday I think. It’s a great feeling knowing my room is clean. And it wasn’t such a drag doing it. I think I’ll survive.

                                      Survive what? The next 25 years of your life? Yeah, you will.

The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles are playing again. I’m pretty Star Trek-asized these days too. Life isn’t that bad for me now. I’m pretty into it. Pretty content. I have my dreams… I’m not dreading back to school, although I can’t say I’m looking forward to it either.

                                      Ahh to be young again, when summer vacation lasted two whole months, rather than just two weeks.

August 21, 1992

Today I found out that school stars the 27th! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Less than a week! What a shock! And due to budget cuts there is a time change. School now begins at 7:45 – this means I have to wake up at like 6:30, or 6:45. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I don’t know how I’m going to handle it! Last year I could hardly crawl out at 7:00. It could maybe zombie my way through the morning waking at 7:10. So I’ve decided to devise a plan. As soon as I get home from school, straight away I do my homework (Keith and I will force each other to do it). Then take a nap. Then wake up, have supper, watch TV, and go to bed. I think I’ll be able to manage waking so early if I stick to the plan and get that nap. I must stick to the plan. And I have to start waking earlier this week to get accustomed to it.

                                         early-riser   It was ridiculous then, and remains ridiculous now, that teenagers must wake up so freakin’ early to get to school. Plenty of studies have confirmed that adolescents  are natural night-owls and do better in school if they are allowed to start at a later time. Yet our society is not structured for families, or children. Our society is structured for rich old men. Why should any office have start and end times? Why can’t people just work when it’s convenient for them? 

 

                                           In any case, my plan half worked. I did take naps every afternoon but only because I was constantly exhausted. I was an insomniac at this age and never managed to fall asleep at a decent hour, regardless of when I went to bed, so I was sleep deprived for most of my adolescence. I think this contributed to my depression at that time.

This has got to be the ultimate year.

                                      It was not the ultimate year.

I’m not taking any math courses. I think I might gt gas permeable contacts some time this year.

                                       I tried gas permeable and they were incredibly painful. My mom was pissed that I refused to wear them.

I’m 16. As long as I do things to make myself near happy (because you realize happiness is impossible for me) I’ll be alright. I’ve gotten to my last year of high school, it’s gotta be great.

                                     It was not great.

I’ve got to start making things happen for myself.

                                 I did not make things happen for myself.

Maybe without math I’ll like school this year.

                                 I did not like school that year.

You know it’s weird this intimate connection with body and mind. When I think of going back to school i feel a weight in my stomach holding me down, making me sad. When I think of vacation the weight is gone and it’s the opposite. I’m lifted somehow. This definitely makes one like the prospect of vacation.

                                Yes, definitely.

I guess I gotta go. This entry was too concrete.

                              Indeed.

August 12, 1992

                                     There are a bunch of pages ripped out of my diary at this point… I have absolutely no recollection of what they may have been about. Then comes a rambling post written in Frenglish. Here is the gist translated into English for ease:

Lately I’ve been thinking rather realistically. Thinking of my real life. My fantasies weren’t there for a while. I’m bored and I want something to happen to me. I want something in my life. Something outside of my house. I don’t want to get driving lessons but I want to know how to drive. I want to have something real instead of my little dreams. I want a fun job or a fun friend who brings me places. I don’t want to be here. I want to start over. I don’t want to read stories, I want to write stories. I don’t want to watch movies, I want to be in movies. I don’t want to be a student, I want to be a teacher. I don’t want to only know that things happen in the world, I want to be someone to whom things happen. Wonderful things and terrible and exciting and real! Maybe I have to make things happen but how? It’s impossible. If I had enough athletic talent I could be in the Olympics. I wish I had enough talent for films or writing. But I don’t even have enough talent to win art contests. I’m not ambitious or smart or independent or outgoing enough to make things happen for myself. So what can I do? Nothing! I hate myself! I wish I could be anorexic. I know it’s bad and all but then at least I could make something happen for myself and I could stop menstruating, which would be great. But I like food too much to stop eating. I can’t stop eating junk! I eat all the time so I’m ugly. If only I had a friend. Someone I could talk to about everything and not be embarrassed. And someone to do things with. I know I’m screwed up. I know I need help. I know I might just go off the deep end someday. I just wish I had someone to tell that to. I wish I wasn’t so scared of people. People make me freeze. I am scared of everyone. Even myself. I can’t write any longer. I can’t think any longer.

                                    Yup, that about sums it up.

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