Tag: teenager

August 12, 1992

July 31, 2017

                                     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.

low-self-esteem

August 11, 1992

July 17, 2017

I really should clean up my room. I should dust and vacuum and organise. But I can’t get motivated to do it. Maybe when school starts.

                                    Yeah, ’cause I certainly would have felt more motivated once under the oppressive and stressful burden of high school. *eye roll*

Writing in this diary makes me sad. It makes me think too much. I don’t want to wonder, I just want to dream.

                                    So what else is new?

Crystal went skydiving Sunday. I really want to skydive. I always wanted to. Until now it wasn’t attainable, but Crystal’s boyfriend does it a lot and took her and if mom would let me he could take me too. I really wish she would let me go (and give me the money). If only she knew how much it means to me. It would be a dream come true. A reason go on living. Why is life so expensive?

                                   Wow, settle down. It’s skydiving, not winning a Pulitzer. 25 years later and I still haven’t gone skydiving but that’s because I’ve gotten over this “dream”. I’ve always really liked heights and the idea of flying which is where the skydiving obsession came from. I got over it after I went on a hot-air balloon ride, which was another of my sky dreams, and it was such an immense letdown that it squashed any other sky related dreams I had. Some things are better left in our imaginations. Also hilarious that obsessed as I was I wasn’t willing to pay for it myself. *eye roll*

There are a lot of things I want to write in here but I can’t. I don’t know how to transform these shot-thoughts into words. I can’t write that fast, or well.

Peace and long life, Live long and prosper. Yager out.

                                   I even drew a hand doing the Vulcan salute. Perhaps this is when my interest in Vulcans began. I spent most of my life idolizing this fictional race and trying to suppress my emotions, and it’s only recently that I’ve realized how much harm this willful suppression has caused me over the years.

P.S. I like tutoring Kelly. I want to be a teacher (if I can’t be an artist…)

                                Thank god I never pursued that idea. I would have been a terrible teacher. Being forced to train various people at various tasks in work settings has taught me that I’m absolute shit at imparting knowledge to others. I get needlessly frustrated when people don’t easily catch on to what I’m getting at. A flaw I get from my father I suspect. “I learned it by watching you!!!”  

drug-dad

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!