The following journal excerpts are not to be read too much into. The groupings here are more humourous than accurate.
Every time I go to Ottawa I read my collection of journals which I wrote from 6 to 21 years old. I find the revisiting of elementary and highschool more bittersweet each year. Ages 12 to 14 are particularly sordid. Youthful exuberance is replaced with paranoia. That had to come from somewhere. It's not useful to speculate. Turns out reconstructing yourself as a victim instead of a Percy-Jackson-type protagonist is less validating than one might think. I hit the nail on the head back when I was 14, and identified my greatest fear as "losing control". I feel really sympathetic towards children, maybe because I recognize the lack of control they have over any aspect of their life. All the convincing myself that I was a strategic, intrinsically cynical manipulator was a lie. I lived most of my days afraid. Things are different now, of course, with covid being a conveniently placed dividing line. For one, I've re-entered my uneventful era, only this time I've outgrown the hunger for more. I have the type of instincts only experience could give me. I am independent and living away from my parents. I know how to look out for myself a little better.
There are of course good moments to be found if I look for them. It's sweet how keen I was to record socializing with others, how excited I was by that world and how I didn't want to forget anything about it. The thrill of being included was intoxicating and often overwhelming. I wrote reflections on books that have informed my thinking: Catcher in the Rye, This Side of Paradise, Meditations, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I remember moments that I should cherish but often forget. I am forced into nostalgic remembering that is sometimes tinted with further fond memories. It's more common, however, for my entries to be rife with anxieties too profound for a teenager. I more often than not feel broken when the thrill of socializing is not dependable. I am pessimistic, despite my best intentions. These reflections are self-pitying, and are seldom helpful. I'll stew in self-pity while in Ottawa, and it doesn't do me good. I think it's time to divorce my childhood from who I am now. I'll exist as Abe, and will have existed since I introduced myself as Abe to the world. These snippets are stories from someone else - someone eager to please, enthusiastic yet cautious, always on the brink of being hurt. I'd like to get to a place where I feel sympathy towards this person and then I close my journals and stop thinking about them.
Nerd
Nine Years Old:
I love the library, I walk all the way to the library. It gets me excited. Then I read in the library for about an hour and get all drowsy. Then I walk back and get all excited again. I just love it.
I'm trying to keep up with my school work. I don't want to have forgotten everything I learned during the summer. So I'm collecting most of my school work and reading them. It feels nice to learn even if you don't have to
Ten Years Old:
I got my school supplies today. It makes me miss school soooo much! I wish I could go to school. There are about 30 more days before school starts. [This is the entire entry]
I'm really excited for school. For LEARNING and doing WORK. I know I'm probaly coocoo. But it's true. Mum saw me do work. Not at school. I mean at my desk. Now she's suspicious. I can't talk about school in front of her now. I wish, I wish that everyone - or even anyone - WILL UNDERSTAND ME!!
Quirky
Nine Years Old:
[Writing to my imaginary friend:] I hope you are well and jubilant. I have written to give an offer to acompony me on my journal to Montreal. You will have to be there at 2:30, today. Since, it will take 2 hours to reach Montreal, we would reach Montreal at 4:30.
I know lots of time has passed and I have changed. That is always how it will be from now.
Fourteen Years Old:
Apparently I have trust issues. I guess I agree, because my way of looking at things is that telling someone anything is bad, showing emotions is bad, and crying is shameful. My reasoning? It's the only way to be 100% safe...I will admit it's a sad life, to always hide, but it's livable. I've made mistakes before about trusting people, everyone has. I don't see why everyone then continues to make the same mistakes. Sincerity is fatal and independence is strength. I must seem crazy to you, but I'm used to that, so it's good.
Is love, for me, guilt? [Friend] and I keep a mental tally until we're 18. His makes sense; mine doesn't...We all need such distinct people. Roll a die - if it's a 1 they'll be your favourite. If it's a 6 you'll never speak again after their 18th birthday. Whose fault is it? Love and luck, two troublesome words.
Autism
Nine Years Old:
I don't get it. "You have always been a mystery to me." Mom sais. She doesn't understand me...That 1 sentence has been troubling me. Am I weird? I bet she means that only she said it in a diffrent way. Sometimes I wonder what's so misterious about me? Maybe I'm like Luna Lovegood, a "Harry Potter" character...I know I'm different. But I thought everyone is different
Ten Years Old:
I'm ten! But I'll never be a 1 digit number. Too bad.
It's actually better telling stuff to a diary than to a person. A person asks lots of questions. They always interupt complaining they can't hear you. They sometimes get mad because what you say. A diary doesn't do that.
Right now, I'm in a cuboard. It's a tight skweeze, but it's fun, too.
Eleven Years Old:
I'm not such a big fan of playdate's with schoolmates. I mean, we see each other 6 hours a day in school. Isn't that enough?
Fourteen Years Old:
My list of friends change constantly and I can't seem to keep any of them. I figure out that so many people hate me. I don't seem very nice. I think I'm nicer than them.
Trans
Eleven Years Old:
I'll tell you about a debate were doing in class: wether the school should advertise "accepting gay, ,lebonise, etc. into the community". Lots of peopled groaned and didn't want to talk about it. It was never mentioned in the past, in fact, it was avoided. Me and some other boy, Wolfe (I know, Wolfe and I!) were the only ones "agree"
Fourteen Years Old
It's the thing like that that annoy me so much. I mean, the way people classify genders, and segregate them so much it's impossible to be in between. It hits close to home. [Friend] always told me I'm more of a boy than a girl, and lately I've begun to agree with him. Whenever someone even mentions me as a girl, I flinch inwardly. I just want to be thought of by me, not by something I couldn't choose.
Then [friend] remarked, "It's like you two have swapped genders". Me, I take this as a compliment. Boys are tough whereas girls are superficial.
I'll leave their staircase without a word, to see if they notice, which they never do, but that's okay because I go on to eat lunch with the boys they like.
And [friend] at least respects me, and has seperated me from my original skin of sweet, shy, dim-witted British girl.