I gave my dad a rainstick that I made and a bracelet that I made and a card that I made. He only liked the bracelet. He said the card was mean and he said he didn’t like the rainstick. So I’m gonna take them back to my house and throw them away or something. It makes me want to cry. I’m so stupid. Why’d I make that stuff for him anyways? I should have known. I’m so stupid… I’m so bored! Dad wants to go to a movie now. Bye.
Born in 1996
Over the coming months, I'll be publishing several journal entries a day in chronological order. I began journaling in 2007, when I was eleven years old. Even then I wrote as though I were archiving my life, collecting details about my world. As I grew older, journaling became more of a description of my emotional world.
I am an aspiring creative nonfiction writer who is producing very little since graduating college this Spring. But with this unusually thorough account of my entire adolescence, I feel as though I have been given a gift that has been under my nose this whole time.
This is a practice in forgiveness and vulnerability. It is also a way to laugh at myself.
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