Things were going along, all fine and dandy, until I came to the one marked "11/03 - 12/04". Towards the end of that one, I started coming across entries with the name of a certain person blacked out.
That's when it got hard.
Prior to those years, I was pretty free and easy using full names in my journals whenever I wanted. After all, these were people in my life, people I cared about. I was spending time with them, and these journals documented that time spent. What was the problem? Well, there was no problem. Until *****.
This person spent a good nine months in, out, and around my life. I entered into the relationship openly, honestly, and yes I'll admit naively, but I went forward trusting the goodness I thought I saw. It was a lie. A manipulative, destructive lie that took me far too long to see.
When I finally saw the truth of things, I went back to the beginning of this person's time in my journals and systematically deleted the name with a sharpie. Each time I made that black mark across the page I said "I erase you from my life." For a long time, I even refused to verbalize that name, instead using He Who Must Not Be Named as a descriptor, or "Hewie" as a derogative short. Now, I am far more selective with the names that appear, although in all honesty I probably still use too many. These days there is just one friend who knows the identity of this person, and she is a dear one indeed.
This discomfort I felt in reading some of those journal entries was so great I eventually had to stop. And frankly, going back holds no appeal to me. I'm also saddened by the idea that I'm only up to 2005 and I have a whopping nine more years of depressive woe-is-me entries to slog through.
|Can you see the black cloud of depression swirling around these books?|
Those books represent what was, and holding on to the past is just holding me back.