Since I was a kid, actually, since I was about 10 years old, I, for some obscure reason, got into keeping a diary. I’ve never been especially consistent for particularly impressive lengths of time, but I do have a great many diary entries. I sadly lost so many very important ones during my teens, thanks to losing data, and most of my diary entries are and have been stored on computers.
As I grew older, I learned to look back a lot, which probably became a serious fault, as I struggle with change, on a very deep level that I can’t really explain; it confuses me. I look back and see pictures of my dad younger, for example, and it freaks me right out! I don’t know why. It’s like part of me is lagging behind and is forever trying to catch up, whereas the adult is beckoning this mysterious part of me to hurry the balls up.
Don’t get me wrong, I change my computer hardware, I change my clothes, I occasionally and hatefully switch up my routine, but those changes that affect me emotionally and mentally? Friends, parents, and past relationships? Changes of these sorts affect me a lot.
There’s something so rewarding and satisfying about looking back and saying “You know what, I’m a better person now.”
A diary, for better or worse, offers me the chance of hindsight; to take a mental note of how I behaved, learn from my stupid mistakes, and better yet, just outright piss my boxers laughing at how stupid I was. Sometimes I can’t do it, because there are some painful things logged in those entries, which is why it’s usually once every few years when I have a good look through, but when I do, there’s a fantastic opportunity for personal growth.