I'm trying to look through my old journal posts. Mother of God, they're difficult to read. I suppose everyone has that phase in their life where they're writing shitty poetry and super depressed, I just can't stand to look at myself like that.
I'm genuinely curious about the things that were on my mind three years ago, but I cringe everytime I read a post where I tried to be depressingly poetic. Like "oh, feel bad for me because I'm so pitiful, so I'm going to find the most roundabout way to whine about things". I'm amazed that girl put up with my whiny attitude for two years. I could have been so much better.
Come to think of it, that was only 3 years ago. My brother was still alive and I felt like disappearing off the face of the earth. Now he's gone and I know precisely what it's like to be loved, cherished and needed. How incredibly irresponsible of me. To assume nobody cared. At least I had the good sense not to try and off myself. What a ******** loser.
The I-don't-know-what-to-call-this-yet Journal
I'm changing the use of the journal. I'm keeping my old entries because they're special. But I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with the journal, now. "Jill & misc" Writing about Jill. A big point of interest in this chapter of my life. An