Dear Diary,
So here I am. This is my second time in the year doing this, and I'm not sure why. Maybe because I want to leave testimony that I was here in this world, that I existed, that I lived. Maybe because I want to show to those that will read this who I was, who I am now. Because I don't believe anybody knows me...at least not completely. People can put together the pieces of my life, what they know about me; but I don't think that they'll be able to recreate me or my life, even if they shared the pieces they've found. Do I let others know me? Why not? In the past I've opened myself to others and I've been hurt, hurt so badly and so profoundly that I guess I became afraid of becoming close to people. Even talking to a therapist is difficult, even if I know anything I say there is confidential. I can't do it. My heart was broken too many times, and I know what it feels like...I wouldn't want to hurt anybody and certainly not myself, again. 'Cause I have, and I know I have hurt others. And one is supposed to learn from mistakes. Well I have learnt. I learnt from my life that I get attached to people and I get to know them and they get to know me and then someone's life goes down, someone's heart is broken, someone's dreams vanish and life doesn't make sense anymore. Every hope is gone, and I feel like there's nothing I can do to prevent it from happening. I feel void inside of me...a void that can't be filled, ever. 'Cause once it's filled, something happens, and then there's hole in my soul again. There's a ball going around us people. A ball made out of responsibility, guilt or blame, trust, shame, fear, disrespect, lack of self confidence, a little bit of faith and a touch of hatred. Buy it's hard to carry that ball, that's why people don't want it. Even if having it meant having power. The ball is passed from one victim to another. Once you have the ball you don't think of all the good things that you could do with it. No, you think of someone near and whom you trust to pass it on. It's too heavy, and you don't want it. Some don't even get it. If you get it's probably because someone trusts you, because someone think he/she knows you. But I got the ball, and still I haven't let others know me. Of course I passed it on, long ago. It became a time when it was to heavy for my shoulders, it was another burden to carry, the least I needed. So I gave it to someone else who seemed strong enough to take it. That's what happens with life: when things get too complicated we try to get rid of the most heavy stuff first, and that's when mistakes are made. We can't handle the pressure, we feel we drawn in our own problems and we become blind to others'. Others that need our help, our support, our presence are forgotten in the mean world they live in by no choice. Children, for example. They are given the ball when they grow up...and they're supposed to be the ones to fix the things that we broke or couldn't take responsibility for. The ball can be transformed...into pure faith and love passing around the world, but it isn't, because we are too concentrated in our own lives. All I got to say is that I cased to understand the people I'm surrounded with. I see things and I have to make a choice. How can I have the life of anther person in my hands when I can't handle my own? That's another thing I wish I knew, and like that there are thousands. It's like if all the questions I didn't ask when I was a little girl, when I was supposed to ask them, finally popped out of my head. And just now I'm looking for answers...answers I'm not sure I'm gonna get. But I have to try, I need to. Just to feel I'm done here, to be able to say when I leave that I've done my best.
Samantha Spade, 2004 (II)
So here I am. This is my second time in the year doing this, and I'm not sure why. Maybe because I want to leave testimony that I was here in this world, that I existed, that I lived. Maybe because I want to show to those that will read this who I was, who I am now. Because I don't believe anybody knows me...at least not completely. People can put together the pieces of my life, what they know about me; but I don't think that they'll be able to recreate me or my life, even if they shared the pieces they've found. Do I let others know me? Why not? In the past I've opened myself to others and I've been hurt, hurt so badly and so profoundly that I guess I became afraid of becoming close to people. Even talking to a therapist is difficult, even if I know anything I say there is confidential. I can't do it. My heart was broken too many times, and I know what it feels like...I wouldn't want to hurt anybody and certainly not myself, again. 'Cause I have, and I know I have hurt others. And one is supposed to learn from mistakes. Well I have learnt. I learnt from my life that I get attached to people and I get to know them and they get to know me and then someone's life goes down, someone's heart is broken, someone's dreams vanish and life doesn't make sense anymore. Every hope is gone, and I feel like there's nothing I can do to prevent it from happening. I feel void inside of me...a void that can't be filled, ever. 'Cause once it's filled, something happens, and then there's hole in my soul again. There's a ball going around us people. A ball made out of responsibility, guilt or blame, trust, shame, fear, disrespect, lack of self confidence, a little bit of faith and a touch of hatred. Buy it's hard to carry that ball, that's why people don't want it. Even if having it meant having power. The ball is passed from one victim to another. Once you have the ball you don't think of all the good things that you could do with it. No, you think of someone near and whom you trust to pass it on. It's too heavy, and you don't want it. Some don't even get it. If you get it's probably because someone trusts you, because someone think he/she knows you. But I got the ball, and still I haven't let others know me. Of course I passed it on, long ago. It became a time when it was to heavy for my shoulders, it was another burden to carry, the least I needed. So I gave it to someone else who seemed strong enough to take it. That's what happens with life: when things get too complicated we try to get rid of the most heavy stuff first, and that's when mistakes are made. We can't handle the pressure, we feel we drawn in our own problems and we become blind to others'. Others that need our help, our support, our presence are forgotten in the mean world they live in by no choice. Children, for example. They are given the ball when they grow up...and they're supposed to be the ones to fix the things that we broke or couldn't take responsibility for. The ball can be transformed...into pure faith and love passing around the world, but it isn't, because we are too concentrated in our own lives. All I got to say is that I cased to understand the people I'm surrounded with. I see things and I have to make a choice. How can I have the life of anther person in my hands when I can't handle my own? That's another thing I wish I knew, and like that there are thousands. It's like if all the questions I didn't ask when I was a little girl, when I was supposed to ask them, finally popped out of my head. And just now I'm looking for answers...answers I'm not sure I'm gonna get. But I have to try, I need to. Just to feel I'm done here, to be able to say when I leave that I've done my best.
Samantha Spade, 2004 (II)