Irony

I’ve been writing in a blog since 2004. When I first started writing, I bounced around a bit using different sites.  But I always made sure to save my entries. I never wanted to lose my thoughts, I knew they were important. At one point I gathered them all into one private blog.

The last few weeks, I’ve been digging through this old blog. It’s so weird to see the things I wrote about a few years ago. My obsession with Michael Rosenbaum, a bad break-up with a boyfriend, all my posts about depression and self-harm, concerts I’ve been to; so many memories I hardly remember now. But they’re all there. The good, the bad, the ugly and the heartbreaking – all of my memories kept in one safe and protected blog.

It’s so weird looking at them all, gathered liked that.

The first time I cut. The first time I burned myself. The turmoil of my mother’s passing. All my suicide attempts documented. How my heart broke over my first love.

It’s so strange to have my whole life in one place, in a mere 412 entries. Nine (9) years of life, you’d think there’d be more. That the posts would be longer, more detailed. But it’s not. It’s short, messy and to the point. Ironic isn’t it?