My diary is an outlet in times of distress, a way of recording and reliving events (good or bad), and a method of figuring out what’s going on in this head of mine. For every happy entry, there are two or three contemplative entries. For every contemplative entry, there are five or six frustrated or upset entries. Reading it is like reading a 365 page book of every negative feeling I’ve ever experienced over the course of a year. Same goes with many of my blog entries, on MSN, LJ and Xanga. I used LJ as my diary because I could type faster than I could write, and there I recorded every relationship issue I had. I read it not so long ago, and it was just concentrated angst collected from months of pain. It left me feeling physically terrible. Going through my 2007 Diary made me feel almost as bad. My diaries are things to write in and never to be read.
You know what’s the worst idea ever? No, not hiding in the crusher (although that’s up there). Reading my diary. It’s like talking to a volatile depressed person for four hours, and it leaves you feeling down for the rest of your day (or at least, an extensive period of time).