I wish I could say I had a love like Noah Calhoun in The Notebook. I don't. And some days, I doubt I will. Actually, this entry has nothing to do with that story. I love the book, but it's too much of a modern fairy tale. And fairy tales don't happen to me. And if they do, they are short and sweet, leaving me behind before I realize it.

The entry is really about my notebook. It's the one I got last month while in my deep depression. I haven't written in it in over 2 weeks. I wrote several pages worth of feelings, thoughts, and fears in it this afternoon. And like half the stuff I've written in it, I paper clipped it shut. I cried a bit as wrote what I did, but I feel better getting it off my chest. I said what I had to say. And some of the things were harsh. I hate myself for writing some of those comments, but it had to be done. If the fears I wrote ever do come true, at least I have proof I wrote them. I don't want them to come true, but life is a tricky game and may make them come true. It will hurt if they do. And I wrote that harsh stuff out of love for life, not hate. Even when people think I hate someone, I don't. I hate the fears these "hated" people's actions create. I hate to see people I love get hurt by people that have only shown me evidence of selfishness. I know I can be selfish, too, but I hope most people that know me dearly know I try not to be selfish. I just want the best for everyone.

As I was writing in the notebook, I started thinking of Chely Wright's "Back Of The Bottom Drawer." I hope one day, this notebook will be something I have to put in the back of my bottom drawer when I'm married. I won't have Mardi Gras beads like in the song, or have other regrets expressed in the song, but I will have a few trinkets there that will show me how far I've gone to get to where I want to be.

Since my mother died, her dresser drawers are still the same. Before New Year's, I found some of the trinkets she had in them. One was a poem she wrote to her father. She wrote it when I was about 7 months old. The poem was about missing him, wondering how to get over the pain, and wishing he could know me. I know somewhere in this house there is also a notebook with other poems she wrote about losing the guys she thought she loved before she met my father. I wish I could find it. I take after my mother more than I knew I did.

[♪ Listening to: "Heart Of Stone" - Taylor Dayne]

Posted by Shawn at January 26, 2008 7:34 PM in General.