Dear Diary, My Teen Angst Has A Body Count
One of the things I enjoyed most about Heathers was that Winona Ryder’s character was such a dedicated diarist. Granted, there’s a lot to scribe when you’re faking handwriting and murders, but growing up I never saw an activity, which seemed fairly popular among teen girls, portrayed on screen much. There are a few suicide notes, again Ryder, but in Beetlejuice, but we’re not talking critical mass here.
I wrote feverishly in my diaries. Like the pretentious Ronnie Sawyer I also had the cheek to believe I was capturing some profound truths in a collection I entitled “Thoughts, Feelings and Other Oddities”. I can barely read them as an adult mostly because I cannot get over how much I needed to get over myself. It goes way beyond Mortified: Angst Written. There were detailed charts, graphs and analysis of the inner workings of my benign DODDS middle school. Never mind I was living in Europe with all this history crumbling and molding around me. I wanted to dish boys, boobs and basketball games.
In an entry in the spring of 1985, while on a class trip to see some Chagall windows I wrote as following:
MR decided not to sit next to be on the bus. He is fired. I’m not talking to him tomorrow or anymore. I’m going to talk to Robbie. He’s better. Plus it’ll make MR jealous.
Nothing of the sights, smells or excitement of seeing all that downtown Mainz had to offer. Instead a lot of chow chow about the mysterious Mr. MR and his unwillingness to sit next to me, thus robbing me of having all of the sixth graders know that he liked me liked me.
As an adult, I still keep a journal. I’d like to think my future self will not find my present day truths quite so cringe inducing.