Reading old diaries is both terrifying and fun. Here are some conclusions that I’ve drawn from my own;
- I am so glad that I am no longer the broken person that I was a few years ago. It’s truly horrible to read the nonsensical insights I had about why I was sad, because you can just see someone who is struggling so hard to to understand why, when there was no why,
- I have no regrets when it comes to my past choices, even the most awful ones, yet the only thing that saddens me is that my mind was unable to distinguish between what was important and what wasn’t in terms of how much attention I was paying to certain things,
- I feel like a completely different person now. Reading about how I felt low all the time and how I did not want to leave the house is heartbreaking, but at the same time I know I am not in that place anymore. Just now, having gone home, I went to the theatre, to a museum, to the cinema, drove to a different city, saw all of my friends and family (who I am genuinely more excited to interact with now, since I feel better about myself and less afraid of them judging me because I feel sad), and all this in the span of seven days,
- I can easily identify the positive moments from the past. that I couldn’t at the time, because my mind was so clouded, so now I can just look back at the times I’m fond of, rather than sinking in these dreary thoughts about tragic memories,
- A clean slate would be good. Not completely, because I don’t think that’s ever entirely possible, but as much as one can afford to change some small things.