I am sick of talking to myself. There are just so many things I want to say and talk about but I know they’re boring to everybody else. My mom is probably sick of me by now but I can’t help it. I know I’m making a fool of myself.
I just like to tell people things that have happened, even just stupid things, but there is no one who wants to listen.
I hope you aren’t bored by this because you are my only hope.
Thanks a lot for listening.
I recently discovered the diary I kept for a short time in 1977, when I was fourteen. There are only a handful of entries, some doodling, depressing song lyrics, and pictures of Shaun Cassidy, Parker Stevenson and Starsky & Hutch. I’m glad to have the diary even though it is heartbreaking to read. I know I was very unhappy at the time but reading the words is enlightening. I can see, for instance, from the above entry that I was destined for years of therapy. I didn’t remember the longing to be heard going back so far. But there it is and black and white. And it turns out therapy isn’t enough, I write, I blog and I’m considering tweeting. It’s as if I want to tell people everything, even the stupid things.
So, I really hope you’re not bored by this. You’re still my only hope.
Thanks for listening.