Flashbacks

The other night, I was cleaning off my bookshelf and came across binders of old schoolwork, printed IM conversations circa 2000, old journals, notebooks, sketchbooks, etc. It kind of amazes me what an ornery, indignant teenager I was - the type mentioned in C-List's blog who would write a whole essay on why she wasn't going to write her essay. I found a 7th-grade math assignment (a story problem write-up) that said, "I got the answer from Jordy, so if you want to see the work, you can check Jordy's paper"; a 12th-grade English assignment on which I had responded to the prompt, "Why I admire Johnson," by saying, "Actually, I don't really admire Johnson. Just because he was smart doesn't make him a good person worthy of my respect"; and another assignment from what I assume was the same class, on which the teacher had written, "I'm really proud of you for getting this in!", with a little smiley face, of course.

Another highlight was an instant message conversation, dated 1-31-00 (apparently it was a rough year for me), between me and Suzy High School, wherein we're cussing each other out and screaming at each other because she thinks I'm a freak now that my hair is black, and she doesn't want to be seen in public with me and my "sophomoric entourage" of other freaks. And wherein she says I'm just as bad as she is because I can't just accept the fact that she's image-obsessed and shallow. Incidentally, I'm still pretty sure I was in the right here, but reading over it, I can see how I handled it all wrong (should've been less accusatory and used more "I" statements, maybe not told her to go fuck herself so much, etc). It's funny because you can still see a bit of that superficial person in her, and a bit of that freak in me, and it's still not quite balanced when we hang out in public, but we're both so much more well-adjusted now.

And then I found this sketchbook journal I used to carry around my sophomore year in college, where I'd doodle, or draw little self-portraits, or illustrate my poetry, or write down funny/interesting things people said in class and then decorate them... And then there are all these drawings, even actual imprints, of my self-injuries in it. It's pretty disturbing, but no more so than the high school papers I found where I talk about how wonderful and fulfilling my friendships are with people I now haven't spoken to in years, or describe my "innocent crush" on Neko (and we all know where that went) - in fact, I would call those poured-out-but-still-half-hidden feelings more embarrassing than a little dried blood, and I don't think I'm ever going to let anyone, especially Lui, see any of this stuff.

But of course, I'm not going to throw it away either. You know, for posterity's sake, so that when I die, premature, famous, and fabulous, biographers will have all these wonderful insights into the events and emotions that shaped their tragically departed idol... Or in case I ever need an alibi.

[Postscript, to my fellow writers: Do you occasionally unearth similar treasures? Is it always this mortifying? Am I right to keep it all, or should I have a bonfire and never look back?]