Posts Tagged ‘sadness’

[September, 1992] Getting My Hopes Up

Friday, September 18, 1992

Dear Journal,

Yesterday I got a tape from Fran. It was a letter one she didn’t feel like writing. Anyway I was so happy to get the tape from her that I asked if I could send one back and my dad suggested that I invite her to sleep over during the weekend instead. I was so happy.

Then today I come home and my dad says I have to do all my homework for the weekend tonight if I want her to sleep over. I griped about it a lot and even my mom agreed with my dad.

family snapshot

So after dinner I was about to go into the other bedroom to do my homework when I go into my room (where my dad was playing Nintendo) and I told him I wanted to study in my room. He said I could when he finished playing and I got angry and I told him I would be up all night if I did (I did exaggerate a bit). I was so pissed that when I left the room I called him a hypocrite. He called me back into the room and asked me what I said. Finally he dragged it out of me and what did he say? Surprise, surprise!!! Fran couldn’t come over.

The weird thing about it is that my mom starts defending me saying Fran is coming over but later she comes into the room I’m in and starts yelling at me! As usual she threatened to leave so I would be all alone with him and would have to live just with him.

The thing I don’t understand is why she defended me when she probably agreed with him. She thought I was wrong anyway so why didn’t she just back him up and make him happy? Why is she disagreeing with him then yelling at me? Well I know I did deserve it.

“I ask myself too many times why don’t you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut?” (Annie Lennox, “Why”)

I’m used to getting my hopes up and then fucking things up.

To complicate matters further I think I’m beginning to like Will Davidson. I really don’t want to because he is IMPOSSIBLE to get. They all are. I ask Didi to hit my every time I think of him, or I dig my nails into my skin. LIFESUCKS!

Fran did not end up coming over.

I wish I could say this was a rare family occurrence, but I just chose not to write about them in my diary often. It was easier to stick to lighter fare, like crushes. The dynamic at home could be turbulent, and while being a smartass didn’t help matters, I know now there were circumstances that added to the tension which I had nothing to do with.

My parents tried to do their best. We all did. Let’s just leave it at that.


[February, 1990] One of the Worst Days of My Life

January 21, 2010 5 comments


Dear Journal,

Today started out as a perfectly normal day but it ended up one of the worst days of my life.

hearbreak, betrayal, despair


It all started when Chen-chi told me that she knows something about Mitchell that will upset me and she wasn’t supposed to tell me but I dragged it out of her and she told me that Mitchell asked Carmella Louise out but she said “no.” Well I was really upset and disappointed but I made it through lunch and I was talking to my friends on the stairs how I’m going to dump him when we went to the next landing and guess who was at the top? That’s right Mitchell. He probably heard everything. When I got back to the class Sam P gives me a note from Mitchell saying:


I didn’t really give a damn (I was mad enough already!) but he gave me another note saying some shit about liking me but wanting to see other girls and what really pissed me off is at the end it said:

But we could still be friends!!!!!

I’m having mixed feelings about this: part of me is just furious, another part of me is really upset and a small part of me even wants him back! But I guess that is just the way the cookie crumbles.

Mitchell R

Now he’s just another name in my book of memories.

Oh, the drama! The race to make that preemptive strike, to be the one who dumps, not gets dumped. The nerve of him for asking another girl out before letting me know where he stand. And what extra nerve to use the biggest cliché in the break-up book by saying we could still be friends! How could he?

In hindsight, I of course realize he lacked the maturity and emotional sophistication to be honest with me, or at least bit more tactful in ending what was a tenuous relationship at best. Let’s review: two months, two dates and zero kisses. Really? Come on, there are Amish kids who probably have steamier relationships than that.

A day or two after the break-up, I took the bracelet Mitch gave me and wrapped it in a note that said: you are a two-timing sleaze-ball! I snuck into the coat room during class and hid the bundle in his jacket. At the end of the day, he tried to give me back the bracelet, but I was a girl of principle and refused to take it.I don’t remember what happened to the stuffed puppy he gave me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it met with an equally dramatic fate.

While I was able to maintain a brave face in school, when I got home I cried and cried and cried. Then I cried some more.

[December, 1989] Beaches and Other Scary Movies

December 1, 2009 10 comments


(spoiler alert: one of them doesn't make it)


Dear Journal,

I just (well a few hours ago.) saw the movie “beaches” again and it was really sad at the end. It’s about this friendship that these two girls have and one of them dies at the end (that’s why it’s so sad). It got me thinking about friendship and how I would feel if one of my good (or even best!) friends died. I would be so depressed and miserable, I don’t know what I would do.

Well let’s move on to a happier subject. Like my date with Mitch (which is tomorrow by the way.) I hope it goes all right.

Also my birthday is coming up and my party is going to have a horror theme. We are going to see a horror movie then tell ghost stories, have some food then play with my Ouija board.

In case it’s still not clear, it’s sad because of the death in the movie. Of the friend. At the end.

Ah, Beaches. For those not up on their chick flicks, Bette Midler plays a bold and brassy gal (I know, so very unlike her other characters) who forges a lifelong friendship with a sensible and cautious gal (Barbara Hershey). What could they possibly have in common, you ask? Well, not a whole lot, but you know what they say about opposites (“they,” in the late 80’s, being Paula Abdul and a  cartoon cat). There’s fighting, singing, crying, dying, and more crying. All to the tune of a soundtrack sung by the Diving Miss M herself, who made us take stock and ask who the wind beneath our wings might be. Despite its somber conclusion, the film has moments of levity, plus plenty of shoulder pads, big hair, and a musical sequence about the invention of the bra (you owe it to yourself to hear “Otto Titsling” at least once in your life if you never have).

To me, Beaches is a scary movie because it shows the fragility of friendship and of life itself. However, others out there might consider it  to be a horror movie because of  its abundance of female emotion and sentimentality. Either way, it was not part of my impending birthday’s theme.

As I previously mentioned, my parents let me immerse myself in all kinds of media related to paranormal phenomena, but they didn’t let me watch scary movies. Nothing with Freddy or Jason or Michael Myers or anything of that ilk. Initially they forbade horror movies until I was 13, but decided to loosen up and end the moratorium a year early. Clearly, I decided to really run with the theme.

What better way to celebrate the anniversary of your birth than seeing a bunch of people die onscreen, tell stories about dead people, and then try to actually talk to dead people using a toy/instrument of the occult? Sounds like my idea of a good time!

[January, 1989] Grudges Galore

September 21, 2009 3 comments
Art by DoA, diary

Art by DoA


Dear Journal,

Yesterday I gave Marcela her book and the letter she gave me, she didn’t say anything and I really don’t care.

I am not Nisa’s friend anymore either because she never cares about my feelings, only hers.

By the way I still really miss Jonas. And I still love him.

In case it’s not beyond obvious at this point, I was (and still am, truth be told) a fan of the dramatic gesture.  It wasn’t enough to have Marcela storm out of my 11th birthday party. I couldn’t let her have the last word and wanted her to know the friendship was well and truly over. There was no better way to do this than return a book she lent me along with the letter she had written less than two months earlier asking us to be friends again. Much in the same way the end of a romance is often punctuated with personal belongings being returned, I found that such a gesture gave the end of my friendship with Marcela the gravitas (or, let’s face it, good old fashioned drama) it deserved.

Nisa was my best friend in elementary school, though I was also on shaky ground with her. It’s funny, because I remember being surrounded by friends during those years, but I don’t remember having so many damn conflicts with them. Were my preadolescent social skills that flawed? (Don’t answer that.) Is it common to have frequent quarrels with friends or was I that tempestuous and oversensitive? (Definitely don’t answer that.)

Whatever the case may be, Nisa and I would make up, but this was it for Marcela and me. Which always made me a little sad, because I thought she was so cool; not just because of her perfectly Aqua-Netted bangs, pretty handwriting, and the sassy way she snapped her gum. Marcela and I shared a resemblence, so I sometimes liked to pretend we were sisters. I also admired her sense of humor, smarts, and boldness. But in the end, I think we couldn’t find a way for our strong personalities to mesh. It’s a shame, because we had a hell of a lot of fun when we did get along.

(And let’s not even get into the whole Jonas thing. I’ll spare the excess entries where I’m mooning over him.)

[July, 1988] Holes in My Heart


Dear Diary,

I forgot to tell you about this crush I Had for two years: His name is Jonas P. and he just graduated. I will Never see him again but I will never forget Him.

I had many dreams about him but I now none of them will come true. one time I slept over Borya’s house and we talked about personal stuff and I told him about Jonas and he started discouraging me and telling me to forget about him.

I was so sad that night that I cried myself to sleep.

didn't mean much anyway

didn't mean much anyway

Jonas was my hall monitor in third and fourth grade and two years my senior. He had red hair, blue eyes and freckles, and I exchanged probably no more than five sentences with him during the the time we we attended the same elementary school. Back then, a two year age difference was like a 20 year gap today. The only reason he ever had to say anything to me was if I misbehaved.

Now I was a good kid, but I was also ridiculously smitten. I made a habit of talking during assemblies on purpose, so that Jonas would reprimand me. Scandalous, I know. Sometimes I even talked back to him. Once I really pushed my luck and he made me stand against the wall. I didn’t act up after after that because deep down I feared authority (still do, sometimes).

I didn’t know anything about Jonas besides his name and that he was cute and made my nine/ten-year-old little heart beat fast. I also knew that being in “love” with him was hopeless.

As much as I knew it, I didn’t need Borya to remind me how was hopeless it was and make me cry about it. That jerk.

[March, 1986] The Story Behind the Story

August 20, 2009 1 comment

March 15, 1986

Dear Diary

long time No see. Today I got a story for you! Tomorrow on Sunday I mite get holes in my ears. I am so excited. I do not think it is going to hurt.


Sun. Mar. 16 1986

Dear Diary

the day before today I wrote a storey about that I will have holes in my ears. but I did not. I feel so sad. but I’m glad I have you then I can shere my feelings with you.




Can I get a collective awwww?  I read this and felt pity for my eight-year-old self, imagining my high hopes and how they must have been crushed come Sunday, when I was left with virgin earlobes.

I was sure this was a childhood disappointment due to flawed parenting and called my mother to verify (and maybe pout about it a little bit all these years later). She told me what really happened.

Apparently, a friend of mine decided to do some DIY body modification and pierced her own ear with a sewing needle. Not being the brightest bulb, she did not know about the importance of sterilization and ended up with an infection. Her puss-filled, swollen earlobe spooked me; it was, to borrow a word I used back then, “grody.” That crimson lobe served as a visual aid of the pain that surely awaited me if and when I pierced my own ears.

Repulsion and fear built up in me until I knew I couldn’t go through with it.

I chickened out and told my parents I no longer wanted my ears pierced. To their credit, they never gave me a hard time about it. So all that remorse in that second entry is not aimed at my mom and dad and any false promises they may have made. It’s regret at my own cowardice, which prevented me from getting something I really wanted.