Living Without Lighting
An Uneventful Day / A Look Into my Past
Today, like the two prior, was very simple. I got out of bed at 11am, and after a lunch of leftover Papa John's I played Minecraft until dad came in and recommended that I go outside for at least an hour. I did, and surprisingly enough I never wore my headphones although I had them on me the entire time. There is a serenity to be had with the outdoors, after spending so much time in my room the chirping of the birds and the humming of the cars reminded me that the world's still spinning. Afterwards, I spent the majority of my day playing Minecraft again until DD, my far-distance friend was available to play Battlefront 2. We had a good laugh as we chopped away at low-level Lukes and helpless Han Solos for a good couple hours, until he had to turn in for the night.
Afterwards, I took a look at my first journal I ever started writing in, when I was merely a freshman in high school. It was a turbulent experience, to say the least. The first few months consisted of edgy rants and teenage plans of mischief, which made me laugh out loud as I read them. I thought reading my old journal would be a cringe fest, but it felt comforting, like meeting an old friend and catching up with them. Fifteen year-old me really saw his life as some sort of action movie, and his journal was his way of getting in touch with his alter-ego (aka his true feelings about everyday situations). While it was a good laugh reading my rants on various topics, combined with fantastical imaginings conjured from my teenage mind, there were a lot of depressing entries that really seemed to point out just how isolated I was from my family and how, at least to me, they seemed to look down on me really unfavorably. Perhaps what hit me the deepest though was what I wrote in this particular entry.
September 13, 2015:
"... I've come to a conclusion, I'm going to get high. It's going to be great because it'll take away my feeling of loneliness and I'll feel AWESOME. I'm going to ask ___ who he bought marijuana from and just go from there. I'm going to get high 24/7. I'll even get high at school! I'm nobody's priority anymore so who will even care :) ?... I think God wants me to be alone forever or at least for quite a while. It's funny because I've never been this depressed. I feel as if nothing's going to get better. I'm so sad and lonely that I'm excited to do DRUGS for fuck's sake..."
Not to be my own worst critic, but fifteen year-old me certainly knew how to write a sob story. Yet at the same time, that was the origin of it all, wasn't it? It came from isolation, being disconnected from those around me and it started as an idea. Although I wouldn't wind up trying weed until two years later, the thought process that left me addicted to it arose long before. Part of me feels like writing in that dusty old notebook again, to continue the story and allow fifteen year-old me to grow into who I am today. At the same time however, how would he react if he were to open the pages and see these entries instead of his? Would he heed my lethargic, sobering self as a warning, or would he simply accept his fate?
While I'll stick this old journal back into the farthest reaches of my closet to stay hidden, its entries will stay fresh in my mind for a while. I feel like a lot of the concerns I wrote in there connect with how I act and behave today. That's the point of diaries, isn't it? To monitor one's growth, like how a forester measures a tree over the years. And just like the tree, we read over these entries and see how our interests and experiences have branched into the complex network of our present selves. I'm glad I opened that journal.
Until next time...