this new diary thing is exactly what i needed. i know it's the smallest thing, and should be the most insignificant change but then i suppose it's the smaller lines that help shape the bigger picture. I've always kept a diary, since i was around 12- i'm one of those people who can't keep things to herself hence the over-indulging of my ego on blogger, twitter and Youtube. except i have a problem, in that when it comes to the boundaries of keeping things to myself i have none; but there are things i don't feel i could possibly tell anyone, so my outlet becomes the connections my pen and paper make.
The first diary i had was bought in Ipswich on a visit to my friend Gina's Dad's house. her family had invited me for the weekend, and i still remember it to be one of the greatest weekends of my life; We went go-karting; her Dad was an amazing cook; and we spent the majority of the time in their back garden playing with her 6 and 7 year old brothers. but even though there were these big gestures that were amazing there are 2 things that stuck with me, that to some people wouldn't even matter (that's not to say anything against those people- it's just that everyone's life leads them to covet their own things; more often than not the tiniest pleasures are not shared pleasures).
the first was that i had my own room in their house. to them it was just a spare bedroom- but up until the age of 10 i had shared a room with both my younger brother and sister and from then on with my sister and to me the room was incredible. it wasn't big or anything, but it wasn't anyone else's- for those 3 days and 2 nights it was mine. I remember during the night i was scared because it was dark and Gina's family didn't leave a light on like mine do. the room was cold because there was no one else in there and the pillows were misshapen, not like the ones back home that over the years had learnt the curves of my head and the turns i made in my sleep. i woke up hours before anyone and sat, bored because there was no bed opposite mine with anyone to talk to. but it was still perfect.
the second thing was the diary itself. i still have it, under my bed in Beccles, in a small blue, lid-less container with 'Amy's stuff' emblazoned on the side in warn out marker. it's underneath the 5 other diaries that are brimming with my mind, and is by far the prettiest thing i've ever written in. the cover was silk, and had tiny flowers sown into it. when i bought it i was worried what my parents would think of the cost, but Gina said it was my money and i should spend it how i wanted to, so i did. when i got back to hers i copied the lyrics of my favourite song at the time onto the front pages- Muse, 'Time is Running Out'. i then wrote everything we had done that day and then let her read it. she said that it was good but i shouldn't write it like i expect people to read it, i should write it for me. so that night i wrote about how the room was scary and cold, and how Gina's youngest brother was a little annoying and when she asked to read it i said no. she wasn't angry, she understood. and from there on i've kept a diary.
they're all under my bed, the others. i had to be careful what i wrote in them because i knew if my mum found them she'd read them. one of my favourite things to do, whenever i'm at home and feeling low, is to pull out the blue container and rifle through my past at all my crushes and laugh at how even then i managed to write too often about my cats (Franky-you're still my baby man, even now ^^) But when i got to uni i thought 'enough'. enough censoring what i had to say, as long as that book stayed with me at all times at home and i was careful where i left it at uni there was no reason as to why i shouldn't write EXACTLY how i was feeling and everything that happened, good and bad. so i did.
but when i came back to this diary from last term after new years it felt...used. even thought i'd only written around 30 pages it felt like i'd gotten everything out of that diary that i could, so i stopped writing as often. and the less i wrote the more annoyed and frantic i became, having no outlet for how i was feeling and the more things went wrong or upset until there was this awful cycle that resulted in me coming over all emo on twitter. it was horrible! but it wasn't until a bit before coming back to uni i had the epiphany of buying another diary. and by epiphany i mean Kage suggested i do it. so i did.
It's already making a difference. the old diary is still here- it's on my side table underneath Doctor Who series 4, (500) Days of summer and Alex and Ted's Daft Punk masks they left at my house (i blatantly haven't put them on and danced around my room listening to 'Alive' on spotify...except i have and it was so much fun i thought i would wee myself a little bit. i didn't. unlike some people...) . i haven't decided whether or not i will keep it though. for the first time in my almost 8 years of diary infatuation i'm contemplating getting rid of it. there are a lot of things in that diary i would like to forget, and although some things i deserve to remember i feel the burden of having it around would be too much. the diary i've bought now is modest enough- brown paper cover, even lines, a little more widely spaced than i'd prefer but ah well.
i know that it seems silly to care so much for something so little. but if it makes a difference there's no shame in loving anything, no matter how big or little in the grand scheme of things it is- it's there for a reason, so don't hide it
xXx
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