With today being a holiday, you can rest assured that the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon have been on pretty much non-stop the entire day.
I finally reached my breaking point and headed upstairs to get away from children’s programming. Once upstairs, I decided a little cleaning was in order so I did the usual; picked up dirty clothes, bagged up the trash, put away a few random items from various horizontal surfaces… you know, the usual.
And then as I sat watching last week’s episode of Las Vegas, I looked down to the last cube on my bookshelf and noticed I have an excessive amount of those grocery store check out cook books. I started to pull them out and was greeted with one of my old journals. Interesting. I kept looking and found two journals that I filled before that one. They started sometime in 1992 and ended somewhere around 2001. I began to read through them and couldn’t even recognize the person I used to be.
By the time I began journaling in 1993, I had met my “future ex husband.” I read back to the time we began getting serious, took vacations with his family, I found out I was pregnant with my first child, and then the second, and finally the collapse of our three year marriage.
I read though pages of pain and then hope, and saw myself pull it together and get back out there.
I read through pages of stupid choices I made in an attempt to get on with my life.
I read about Jason and I becoming a couple and those entries, no matter how sporadic they were at that point, saw myself changing and becoming truly happy.
Looking back, there were so many entries that I don’t even remember writing or even feeling the way I did at the time. I saw page after page of my handwriting that should something happen to me now, I would never want anyone to read. I’m embarrassed by some of my actions and thoughts.
Today, I erased a part of my past, the written part. I ripped page after page out of those books and out them into one pile. There it was, year after year of my innermost thoughts, thoughts that probably should have stayed in my head, now in a heap on the floor.
I fired up the paper shredder and fed my old demons to the teeth. I don’t like the person who wrote those pages. I wouldn’t change my past because it made me who I am today, but I can say I honestly don’t miss her. I’d never want my family to read those journals. Now, I don’t have to worry about that. Honestly, I was seriously uncomfortable reading my own entries, I can’t imagine how they would feel.
So today I destroyed nine or so years of my written history and I’m positive that was the right thing to do. Those journals felt like a dark cloud or a heavy weight on my shoulders. With them gone, I feel lighter already.
Will I regret it some day? Possibly, but I seriously doubt it.