Even when I was a kid I knew enough never to leave anything around that could be used in evidence against me.

great thread... i'll dig mine out :)

This is 4 consecutive days. Real names, real spelling mistakes...

Feb 24th, 1987 (age 12)

I made a total fool of myself today. First, in math, someone suggested a different way of figuring out a problem during corrections. Somehow my mouth opened and said, "that's how I did it!" and loud too! People looked at me.

Then at the lockers I wanted to take my shorts off from under my skirt. I also grabbed a hold of my skirt and it went down too! Luckily no boys saw. Only a couple girls.

I got this diary.

Feb. 25th, 1987

Today we started our group. So far it's called the dreamers, but I think we'll change it.

Steven just gets cutter and cutter every day! I can barely contain myself! I just have to wright it somewhere! I love Steven (surname) intensely! (circled with a heart)

I decided to make something for me to wear, out of a huge hunk of pink material.

Feb. 26th, 1987

We changed our group name just as I suspected. I thought of the name. It's The Pink Penguins.

I did the propellor with David and Adele and Mark. Boy does Mark speed! I felt as if I was horizontal!

I'm begining to get confused in whether I have a crush on Steven or Mark. Ever since slightly before Valentines Day.

Feb. 27, 1987

Catherine came over. Boy is she a brat!

I still love Steven. (5 hearts, one with initials)

(My appologies to RevSteven !)

I think I was in grade 5 or 6 when I decided to write a book.  The topic would be my dog - but it ended up being about my family, my neighbours and my friends as well.  I actually filled five scribblers, writing an average of six pages an evening.  I kept it for years but eventually it disappeared.  I wish I had kept it.  It would be an interesting read.

Finally I showed the completed version to my mother (she had been thinking that I was being very consciencious about homework with all my writing).    I do remember her laughing about some of my spelling which was never my strong point.   One word puzzled her for quite a bit until she figured it out by context.  That word was 'knowdess'.  

am I right in guessing it's Notice seeler?

My 1st 2 entries in my first dream journal.  The book is "The Dream Nothing Book:  Sleep on It!" with white fluffy clouds on a blue background (back in the days when Banyan Books was cool):

"May 16, 1983 10:25 to 8:00;

Something with machine-guns in it.

All of the time 2 people trapped inside our old house's garage and going out on the back lawn to get equipment and staff.  There, on the grass, were ochre jellys: a sort of single celled animal about 1' in width.  But these were white.

This dream I was semi-aware of my presence in my bed.

May 17 1983 10:12 to 7:55

My whole family (and other's from Earth) visited another planet.  It was like the moon but with breathable air.  It also had a tropical side (all ocean and islands) which looked very much like the earth.  The ruler was a nice fellow.  The sport they played was baseball.

I had a secondary dream also:

Of a u.f.o.  Gliding towards earth then crashing in a lake the size and shape of Australia.  It broke apart like in the computers."

Right Bethany.  For some reason I must have thought it should be 'know' rather than 'no'.  The 'dess' instead of 'tice' is probably due to not noticing the difference in pronounciation.   

Note:  I now know how to spell 'notice'.

What a delightful little poppet you were - and still are. 

Personally, I didn't see the sense in keeping a diary until my late teens - when I transferred my interest from winning Wimbleton to agonising over whether this boy or that (gulp) liked me.

From memory, my biggest worry was if I had sweaty hands when they grabbed my hand while walking.

 A kiss then rated as highly as an orgasm would in later years.

Chuckle. I remember many boys having sweaty hands in folk dancing. I had a trip journal before this, for my trip to Germany in 1985, which is written very much like an assignment, rather than for fun. I was 10 then, and I remember most of those events when I read it.

Great dreams Inanna. Cool moon! I had lots of space dreams myself. I wrote a dream journal for a few years starting about age 18. I went into great detail and packed that book cover to cover. It really helps one focus on them to write them out, and begin to gain control and interpretation.

I'm going to be away from the computer for a few days, but will try to pop back here this evening, and will eagerly await checking back in a few days time.

Seeler, such a shame you don't have that any more. Sounds really good.

Chuckling at some of the rememberings of others above, especially spelling, boy's names with hearts, and then there is Pilgrim's Progress' comment about the ratings of a kiss (lol!)

My sis and I found one of our old diaries that was written when we were children.  There was a line in one that read . . . "We have hidden a * * * * * * * * in our secret hideout . . ."

For the life of us we couldn't remember what we had hidden!!!!  Our secret hideout was underneath the stairs in our basement.

a well kept secret then, Beloved!

Fun to imagine someone else finding it years later....

OK, I'm back! MomsFruitcake, did you find anything?

poeam written in grade 12

The Man

I hear the door open,

I hear the door close.

I feel the house tighten.

I feel myself tighten.

He's home, Oh God he's home.

my heart races faster.

I feel my hands clenching

as if iI were ready to fight.

Strength, Oh God I need strength.

to fight the war inside.

What can or can't I say?

he learks even closer.

Oh God? What did I do?

I have done nothing wrong.

his eyes glow with anger

my heart, soul grows with fear.

Dear God please protect me.

I leave and try to hide

But not quickly enough.

Wow Boots, that is really powerful. Thank you for sharing it.

It's nice to meet you, by the way.

Thank you for that submission Boots. Such a sad story. Here's a hug for grade 12 you. (((HUG)))

Here's the first entry in my collected poetry book. Titled after a Duran Duran song. I was 14.

nov. 1988

Edge of America

I was standing on the edge of America, with nothing but a faint memory. I stood at the cliff, watching the waves beat on the shore,thinking, trying to remember. I saw a seagull fly off into the mist, where it was going, I don't know. I was loosing my concentration to the sea, flying with the seagull to destinations unknown. My thoughts were taken over by the spirit of the wide ocean. I felt I had been stripped of all my fears and problems. I was free to fly away with the seagull. I was dead.

Wow - to both Boots and Elanorgold!  Thanks for sharing.

Boots - we don't see enough of you.  

I just reread your poem.  Grade 12?   But it shows so much insight into the feelings of a battered woman (or perhaps a battered child).   Did this come out of your own experience - perhaps somethin that you had observed?

 A little bit of both. The poeam was based on my father who had stopped spanking at the age of 12? however there was a lot of verbal abuse and  threats at the time of writting.

My father is now a changed man and has apoligized for his physical actions. He is a wonderful Grandfather to my boys and I would trust him with there lives in a heart beat.

Good to hear that Boots. To think, spanking was once commonplace, and considdered necesary. 

Writting became a wonderful expression for me. I was very proud of my first few pieces.

this is the first time i've been on here or even posted in moooonnnths

i found all my diaries from about grades 6 to 10...the worst period of my faithless, self-loathing, secret-crash-dieting, unworthy-rude-boys-obsessed life.

I threw them all away.

PS boots - its really incredible the relationship you seem to now have with your dad. A lot of people don't have that blessing.

Ooo, I hope you don't regret doing that. I was really into unworthy rude boys then too, had a spell of not eating too, had some low self esteem, and have never had faith, still don't, but I do not deny any of the feelings that I ever had, they are all a part of me.

hmm, actually, i did it quite a while ago, and never remembered until this thread.

i don't regret it. It a part of me that Jesus tossed out the window, so I felt I should as well.

Inanna- My mom had that same "Dream Nothing" book - they had a group that met weekly for years talking about dreams and Jung and life.  As soon as I saw the title, I could see it in my head. 

I kept diaries, or more like a binder full of pages.  When I went back and looked at it in my 20's I realized that I usually only took time to write if I was miserable, so it was full of F's and angry scratches and stuff.  I remember sometimes just scribbling hard (right through the page) until it calmed down into swirls.  Then I could write more.

Anyway, to read the diary seemd like I was a miserable person living a horrible life.  Nothing is further from the truth.  I didn't take time to write the details of camping trips and fun times with friends, or about my boyfriend, unless it was in a time when we broke up.  But it was mostly good - I married him happily after all, ...

SO - I read through it piece by piece, and it was really therapeutic.  But it was all so negative!!    I figured that the garbage written out to get it out of my head was not something I'd want my daughter to see without proper explanation, and 90% of it was not helpful anymore to me, so I pitched it.

I kept a few things - letters from my best friend that were perfect snapshots of how great a friend she is (and all the friends we had) and some happy stuff created with friends at camps (people we would never see again).  A bunch of newfie jokes told by real newfies (self-described).  And so on. 

Oh Dear, More-than-a-Sparrow, those diaries show who you were then, and God loved you, then and now.  Your life then was a part of you, and you were and are precious in God's sight, a beloved child of God, seeking your way through a difficult time in your life.  You say that you believe 'Jesus tossed that part of you out the window'.    In my humble opinion, all of you is loved and valued by God - no part can be thrown away, rejected, or denied.  Changed, renewed, made new:  yes.   But tossed out the window?   I don't think so.

I too went through difficult teens - my mother dead, my dad as good as absent.  I had low self esteme.  I would do almost anything to have a boy (or man) given me attention for a few hours.  I thought of myself as fat - but when I look back at the few pictures I have of that time, I wasn't.    I though of myself as ugly - but I didn't have money or opportunity for clothes and style.  I wore other people's castoffs.   But I made it through, I managed to finish high school, I moved away, got a job and a bit of money for the first time in my life, joined a big church that offered a lot in young adult study and activities, and built a life for myself.   But I do not deny my past.  I would love to have a diary of that time - even though I would probably be ashamed of much of what I wrote.   But the fact is, even if the darkest times, God was with me.  Even when I didn't realize it, I was surrounded by God's love.  Many times I probably disappointed, many times I imagine God wept for me (I was too tough to cry myself).   God was with me.

Perhaps this is too heavy for this thread - but I felt it had to be said.

And His love comes to you through the many others that love you.

Isn't it a blessing ,Seeler,  to look back on your life through a different filter? A troubled childhood can be an opportunity to develop later resilience to face life's ongoing challenges.

I have old diaries and poems I wrote, some go as far back as 10 (when I learned to write). They are my treasures, because though the ugly stuff tends to leave a bigger mark, I can look back and see glimmers and large slices of light in what might seem darkness. I read of a kid who was over the top about a trip to a park or who caught bluegills. It also triggers me to go, "I remember skating in the basement around the pole like I was in rollerderby" or "I remember a fort made with blankets over the table".... those blessed moments could have been lost without yellowed pages. It also gave me words to love my mom with. Her disease was ugly, but I could read about the times it was laugh until you cry not ugly at all, like her putting a slip and slide in our hallway. It reassured me of love I could not always feel through her illness. 

Seeler, not too heavy at all. Well said.

Sparrow, I agree with Seeler, though I also understand Birthstone's post. A lot of my old diaries are filled up with misery, but I know that's what I used my diary for. Birthstone kept those until she was a grown up, and was able to learn from them later on, then decide what to keep, and what was no longer needed.

SG, Lovely post. So true, they open a window to the past, for us to gain insight.

you nailed it Eleanorgold!  that is about right. 

SG - I agree that it was a lovely post.  having heard you share so much about pain, the slip & slide memory comes through clear as a bell as a moment of joy - probably something special to her too. 

For me, the pain wasn't really that bad - just teenage angst, frothy stuff - honest.  I had it good, and mostly, I knew it.  So reading the notes later just made me groan.  Sure, I remember sobbing so hard I thought I would split open, but what teenager girl doesn't when the love of her life is a braindead teenager too???  I sorted him out mostly.  Now, his diary would reflect real pain, more like yours, SG, different, but very dark.  Hopefully he's coming to a place where he could discard a lot of it. Not yet, but maybe someday.

Just curious............... what's a "slip and slide"?

I would love to know what my teen heartthrob's diary reflected... I don't know that he kept one, but I know he was a writter, so I'm sure there's stuff. I'm sure there would be pain, though it would most likely be concealed with clever metaphor, and angry boyish facades...

Elanorgold - my son wrote songs.  He never showed them to me, but once in awhile I would find one lying on his desk or dresser.  Without even thinking about it, I would begin reading.   They were often full of pain or longing.   Then I would realize - this isn't meant for my eyes, and I'd put it down quickly and leave the room. 

Mmmm. That can happen. I used to wonder a lot if my mom was looking into my things when I was 17/18. For my own good, kind of thing. I read her and our friend a poem once, a really pretty happy one, and when I finished and looked up they were both dumbfounded and silent. They hadn't understood a word of it! "What was that all about?" my friend said. LOL.

A couple years ago, I sent my Mom a collection of photocopies of my drawings, stretching back to the emergence of who I am, about age 14, all through to the modern day. SHe said it was the most thoughtful gift I ever gave her. An honest variety of feelings in there, anger, love, imagination, dreams, rejection, guy lust, boyfriends, joy and friendship, even a drawing of her, all sorts of stuff I had always hidden. I think some of it was difficult for her, but for the most part she appreciated it.

that is a nice idea - good that you had a well-rounded collection.  My mom would have a heart attack reading how miserable I apparently was.  Of course, I could pull out photos and mementos and clothing and then write some memories of the good stuff - that might balance it out.

As I said, my parents had that "Dream Nothing book" and were big into dream analysis.  So they are pretty aware of the therapy of writing stuff down, particularly the bothersome stuff.  I'm sure my mom would make sense of my miserable diaries, but we'd have to rehash it until the end of time.  I think I'll skip the sharing part.  :)

I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with my diaries when I pass on. Not give them to my son! Maybe bequethe them to my grandchildren, to read after I'm gone or something...