I burned my diaries

I've kept a diary since I was 13. That's 24 years of secrets, woe, worry, disaster, and angst. At least that's what it felt like reading them again a few months ago.

The Grade 9 diary was the first (and last one) I tackled. Apparently I had a mad crush on this guy 'Kelly' who was in Grade 11. He featured on many a dreamy page. His name was doodled everywhere. I was very diligent in recording every scrap of information about him. I even noted the rumor that Kelly had told his buddies he thought that the 'crazy girl in Grade 9' was stalking him. My diary rebuffs this with great indignation. (But it was probably true - 15 year old girl with romantic delusions - sounds like obsession to me).

Anyway it turns out Kelly developed a drinking problem while trying to be 'cool' around the 'in' kids. I met up with him a few years later in a bar when we were both adults and much more mature. Except he was still drinking and I thought he was a complete tosser. So long Kelly.

By the time I finished reading the diary I was sad, perplexed, bemused, and had relived all that terrible emotional roller coaster of teenage life. Who needs to be a teenager more than once?!

I put the box of diaries back in my closet. For the next few months I waited for some inspiration to go back and read the rest of them. I had kept them all this time thinking they would be a good source of material for future writing. A memoir perhaps for my grandchildren.

Inspiration never came. The box just sat there looking heavy.

The past, as captured in those diaries, was heavy. Those notebooks kept me anchored there, back in all those yucky emotions. (Why didn't I ever write about the good stuff?!) Besides, if I was going to write a memoir, it was going to be a memory. And memories are just that - whatever you imagine them to be.

Pulling out the first few pages felt strange. I had a queasy stomach. After that it got easier and pretty soon the fire was roaring. I hesitated over two old love letters. I couldn't quite get rid of them. I sat there and did nothing but relive the old relationship and wonder 'what if' and 'if only'. Nostalgia? Regret? Whatever it was, it felt pretty terrible.

But the past and future are just fantasies after all. Why not create them in a way that feels good?

The diaries had to go. The love letters had to go.

And you know what? It felt really good to let that old love rest in peace. Now I can remember it just the way I want - a happy ending for everyone.