Oh the teenage angst that some of those of us who like to call ourselves creative went through. The horror of it all is unbearable and unbelievable at this late hour. And just to throw it out there, I’m utterly embarrassed for my younger self.
As I scroll through documents of my past, the unimaginative and cynical lines make me cringe. What could I have possibly had going on in my life at that age that made me write what I did? I really have no answer to this question so maybe you can answer it for me. All I can think of is maybe one of my friends didn’t text or IM me back quick enough. Maybe it was something else, something equally as heartbreaking. Either way, I know I felt some sort of passion about the matter. How that passion was expressed is another story.
A creative writing professor of mine once told me that no matter how strong your writing is, there will always come a time when you look back at a piece and you will want to burn it. You will want to crinkle it into a ball, pour on the lighter fluid, strike the match, and watch it burn until the little flakes of charcoaled flakes scatter into the wind. In that moment your heart will steady and you will be able to rest assured that no one will ever have to read it again.
For her this was easy. A short trip under her bed, followed by by a visit to the bedroom closet of her childhood home, was all she needed to do to destroy the evidence. I, on the other hand, will face the tragic conclusion that what I wrote will literally never go away unless the internet ceases to exist.
Smart teen that I was, I thought it would be a “brilliant” idea to start a blog at age 13. Though I’m happy that I have it now, there are just certain things from my teenage years that never need to see the light of day. Some of my posts don’t even need a flashlight shined upon them in the dark of night.
But they’re there! And they always will be. And I guess in a way that’s pretty awesome. Though I groan at the unoriginality or ignorance of some of the things I wrote about in my early teens, it’s exciting at the same time to know that they will always be there for me in moments of need. If I’m ever alone, I know that my former self will always be available. Online, 24/7 I will be able to find that young teen and look to her for some sort of insight. She’s my own little time capsule. She grounds me to the events of my past, and helps me think of ways I can continue moving forward.
In the end, I’m grateful that former me had the foresight to record her thoughts and dreams in such a public way. For when it comes down to it, she is my blog and my blog keeps me connected to all parts of myself; the good, the bad, and even the teenage angst.
Bittersweet Symphony 