Entry 786: Trying To Remember

I’ve been rereading my old entries. I’m over 300 entries in and still in my first year of the diary (2009 when I was 16/17). Obviously I have been cringing at just my teenage life, but honestly I’ve forgotten most of this had actually happened.

It doesn’t help that a lot of the photos I originally uploaded in some entries don’t seem to be there anymore, but a lot of the time I get the gist of what’s going on in my late teens.

I’ve noticed that a couple have stated about me “pretending” and “wanting” to be a boy. And I originally had another OD where I was pretending to me someone else just to be a boy.

It … it’s weird. Knowing what I know now, I’m reading these entries and thinking it is so painfully obvious.

A lot of my entries are about my relationships at the time. I flitted from one to another to the next so quickly. I was messed around by that one person and rereading it, I don’t understand how I put up with it all. She was obviously playing me from the start, the people who left notes on those entries could see it too but I was blind. So incredibly blind. I had forgotten so much of this…

I’m hoping that going back through these entries, I’ll find something. Anything.

The SW (and her manager), who we haven’t been in contact with since pre-pandemic, thought I had some unresolved trauma in my past because I can’t remember it.

I’ve since done some vague research and what I found is that people who suffered with depression in their early childhood don’t have many memories of it. So surely, they should take that into account?

I had a happy childhood. There were obviously moments that weren’t great, but I’m also not sure if my memory is correct or not when thinking of those times.

But I had a great childhood. I didn’t want for anything. If I wanted to try something, I could. If I wanted to stop something, I did. I went on holiday to different countries each year during the summer. I went to Disney multiple times.

I just… I can only remember the stories people have told me about those events. Or looking at photos I go “ah yes, I remember that thing.”

Like, for example, my family (mum, dad, brother, uncle and I) went to Disney in Florida when I was about 8ish. My mum had been in a car accident and got a massive payout from the insurance so she treated us all. We went to Seaworld and watched Shamu the whale 🐋 . My brother noticed the seats that we had chosen, even though the were out of the splash zone, were wet. He told everyone and before the end, we started running up the steps. My uncle was faffing and didn’t move so my mum, uncle and I were soaked, my dad and brother managed to get far enough up that only the backs of their calves where wet. I was ringing out my t-shirt in the fountain.

From that “memory” all I can actually remember is me ringing out my t-shirt. The rest is all a told story.

A lot of my memories are like that, stories told to me. Sometimes I will remember a small bit of it myself, sometimes I won’t.  Most of the time, the memory I have is the story I know.

I feel quite frustrated with my 16/17 year old self. Why did I not write more?

Having read over 300 entries so far, I know why I didn’t. I had friends in real life finding my diary and reading it. They thought I was keeping secrets from them and not telling them everything. They wanted me to not have a thought to myself.

So instead of writing everything down and not caring (because only Internet people would read and who cares about them, right?), I didn’t share as much as I probably wanted to.

I say who cares about them when referring to Internet friends because I do care.

There are at least 3 people that I became friends with because of OD that are still in my life now and I love them so so much.

I’m beginning to think that maybe my trauma is just me being depressed and trans and suffering with chronic insomnia. Having grown up in the wrong body, being told I was x instead of y.

I still have depression. I still have chronic insomnia (hey, I’m writing this at 02:15am with my wife and animals asleep around me). I am still definitely trans. I’m just not suffering anymore or at least not completely.

I’m living with these things as much as I can. Some days are harder than others. Some days I struggle to get out of bed. Some days I walk the dog and its a bit better. Other days I sit and rewatch Greys Anatomy for 12 hours. Sometimes, they all happen on the same day.

Forever, tired.
-Jack, x.

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