Tag: adolescence

June 28, 1992

July 3, 2017

Italy: 12:38 a.m.
Montreal: 6:38 p.m.

Yes, vacation has started. We went through France, Paris, lovely as always. Italy is totally expensive and I feel totally ripped off everywhere we go. I think I should make this vacation into a movie one day because it is hilarious.

                                   Yeah, so hilarious that I didn’t think to provide any examples.

Anyway, I have been dreaming up a gillion ways of me meeting S.P.F. here in Europe, but I guess not, eh?

                                  Ugh, I’m so bored of this celebrity obsession. I can’t wait for 16-year-old me to get over it.

I have found three additions to my mental list of top 10 weirdest showers… This is one hell of a grimy hotel room. I think this bed is going to collapse soon. A trillion kajillion guys stare at Crystal (my sister, who must have been 18 at the time) all the time in all these countries. Some Italian guys tried to talk to her. One French guy asked her out. Some guy wanted to kiss her. One guy serenaded her in the street with his guitar. It’s weird (because she’s older than me) but when I am with her and those guys look at her and try to kiss her I feel like I should protect her. I always check to see if guys are ogling her. And I give them dirty looks. It must be flattering, but scary to be thought of as a sex object like that. well, luckily I’ll never have that problem (or unluckily?) Well, I must sleep now, bye.

                                   It’s remarkable how casually catcalling was taken in those days, and how little my parents seemed to care that their daughter was constantly being harassed, and how little the cat-callers cared that the teenager they were harassing was clearly with her parents!

July 11, 1992

We came home from vacation yesterday. I am having lots of weird feelings. Things I don’t want to write about because I don’t know how to express them on paper. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep and love S.P.F.

                                   And then I just go on and on about my celebrity crush and don’t mention a thing about all these “weird feelings”, nor do I recount any stories from our family vacation. What a lame journalist I was!

June 12, 1992

June 19, 2017

I am sad, sad, sad, in the depths of despair.

                                Maybe I’d just reread Anne of Green Gables or something…

It was storming earlier, I wish it would start again. I love lying in my bed with thunder shaking my heart and lightning lighting up my room and my flame.

                              My flame?!?!?

I get so excited at midnight tempêtes (French word for storm). They are the best way to get excited in real life. But the storm was mild and now is gone and I am sad. I have a bunch of new S.P.F. fantasies… SIGH. Every time I read I get wrapped up in my dreams and have to reread and reread the passages.

                               I still have that problem. I mean, not the celebrity crush fantasies, but difficulty concentrating while I read.

I have a headache and there is nothing like real life and I hate it. I don’t hate myself anymore. Now I hate people (except for S.P.F.) My pen is running out and so is my time.

                                  Oh geez. Was I trying to be poetic?

When will I be famous?

                                   Ahh yes, the eternal question. *eye roll*

That, along with meeting S.P.F. is my unattainable goal. 

                              Well, at least I knew these goals were unattainable.

I want to die an old maid.

                            Yeah, I must have been reading Anne of Green Gables.

Literally I don’t ever want my virginity to be robbed from me. Although I must admit I would give it to S.P.F. if he wanted it and he wore protection.

                             LOL! I was cringing and then I saved it with some good old ’90s sex ed.

I will save myself for him. So I guess I will die a young maid.

                           All I need now is a fainting couch.

I have changed in a year. I used to want a boyfriend, now I don’t. Unless of course it was S.P.F.

                           Yes, of course.

All the other guys I’ve liked I didn’t like the way I was feeling about them. But I like this feeling of devotion to S.P.F. He is different than all the others. It’s odd. Another thing that’s odd is that I’m writing so much in here lately. And when I start I can’t stop and I keep rereading it.

Purple moons and dancing shadows and bleeding tears and scary clouds and all those things.

                            I just… I mean… at least I never said things like that out loud.

If when I reread this, it doesn’t make sense, that’s ok, it doesn’t make sense now. PEOPLE ALPHABET. My next step, really… Don’t dig too deep.

                         Ok…

crying-eye

                      Seems legit

 

June 11, 1992

June 5, 2017

I hate myself. Why can’t I talk when I’m with those friends of Jane’s? I always have so much to say. I’m even better with Genevieve’s friends than Jane’s. Why do I always clam up and shut up? Why do they intimidate me so much? I just cannot figure it out. They must all wonder what the hell I’m doing when I hang around them. They must wish I would go away. Jane told me that the guys all think I’m pretty but think I should talk. But they ignore me. When they look at me it’s like “what are you doing here?” All they ever talk about is sex, and farting, and burping! That must be why I clam up, because I could not add anything. If they would just talk about something I am interested in and ask me what I think I could go on forever. If I am invited to go to La Ronde with them I will go because I love La Ronde but I am going to be so weirded out. Maybe I should get myself on a major sugar high so I can be weird with them. I hate myself… 

                                    This is so sad. At least now I have the answer to the why. It’s social anxiety. I wonder if my adolescence would have been easier if I’d had a name for the problem, if I’d had a diagnosis. Probably not. It doesn’t make things much easier now. But at least the self-loathing is gone!

Nicole Natacha Yager, Genius in the next dimension.   

Lol! Wow. Genius, eh? Nice.