I spent a good portion of yesterday rereading my old Livejournals. Literally years-worth of entries, all back to back. My high school entries are full of either melodramatic angst or childish glee. I claimed to hate everyone and thought that I was an intellectual masterpiece. Then my college entries are a journey of self-reflection and attempting to make myself socially appropriate. I wanted to fit in and learn how to talk to the boys that I crushed on. And I did grow up the most during those college years and I can see the emotional growth.
But I’m the same person as always in so many other regards. After reading many of the emo, melodramatic entries, I would have to admit to myself, “I still feel those feels sometimes.”
I wonder if it might serve me well to go back to having a place to vent and sort through my feelings. I don’t really talk about my emotions anywhere these days, neither in person nor in writing. At least not in the same depth that I did back then, when it was weekly if not daily. But it seems so juvenile to write entries about a cute boy I saw on the street. It seems narcissistic to record what comments people make about me. It seems self-absorbed to write a huge rant when life is slightly unfair. And I don’t know that my self-analysis could get very in-depth before I would cut myself off with a curt, “Stop blathering and go out and live!”
That is a common theme to many of the later entries. That I analyze myself too much and overthink instead of doing anything productive. I think perhaps I got to a point where I realized that whining and debating “he loves me, he loves me not” was just a waste of time. I learned to just pick up the phone and ask if he loved me. Because I’m an adult now, sadly. And adults can’t have existential crises just because they feel like it. Even though I would really, really like to sometimes…