i remember i used to keep countless of diaries and journals throughout my childhood. i think i found solace for the fact that i have something to tell to about my day or what i thought without being judged and of course, for the fact that i grew up around adults and i felt that no one can even stop to listen.
so today i found and old one of mine and my grandma went "you used to be so sly and mean, writing snide comments about what you disliked and who you hated"
"because that was my diary and that was the purpose of a diary"
"well people couldve read it and feelings can get hurt"
"because it was no one's right to read it, and to tell me what to feel, and what not to feel. i believe that you wish i'd rather that, than tell people in the face what i disliked what they did and how i felt"
all the memories of people who had no right in access of a stupid book of feelings just come back to me in pain. there's nothing else to describe it. i think back and all i feel is pain.
teachers humiliating me and punishing me and telling me "you cannot write like that in your diary. maybe at the end of each post you should evaluate it all and write a conclusion of what you hope for: like i hope my friend becomes a better person"
all of you are missing the point. all of you have no right.
