I made an interesting discovery when I went back to read an old journal last night. My motive had been to see if I could find any excerpts of interest to post on here. Alas, I came up short in that regard. The first journal I grabbed was one that I kept sporadically during my junior and senior years of high school. You know the kind, the padded, cloth-covered variety that put all kinds of pressure on you to think of something deep and meaningful to write about.
Needless to say, I didn't find anything deep and meaningful. What I did find though was evidence that I wrote in the journal in a way that I clearly felt like I should be feeling, not how I actually was. Case in point being when my best friend started dating a boy I liked, the only reference I made to being upset about it was "Sigh, I kind of liked Brian, but oh well." I then proceeded in every subsequent entry to fawn all over how cute they were together and how happy I was for them. Bullshit! I was pissed and jealous. Why couldn't I write that in my journal?
I've never been too concerned with the idea of people reading my journals, so I doubt that was the reason. God-knows, my dad would've if he'd had the opportunity (and probably did on many occasions), but once I was out of his house I always trusted my roommates and boyfriends to not cross the bounds I set up with regard to my journals. It seems to have worked out for me so far because I have long since gotten over any need to sugar-coat my entries. I have to imagine there would've been ramifications if things had been read that were not meant to be read.
Whatever the reason was that I couldn't admit my feelings back then, even to myself, I now feel compelled to point out that my "best" friend may have gotten him as a boyfriend for a few measly months, but I've had him as a dear friend ever since. *raspberry*