When Internet dial-up was the bane of everyone’s existence in the nineties, I had a nightly self-care routine. It was an ancient time. None of my friends knew about it. This nightly routine allowed me to wind down before I went to sleep. I often overthink a lot of things throughout the day. My thoughts range from the drama of preteen life to teenage life and all through my mid-to-late thirties. Let me explain what I mean.
I received my first diary as a Christmas gift when I was ten years old. I didn’t take it too seriously until I was twelve, and then took it off. Every night, I utilized a spiral-bound notebook as my diary. I would write in that thing about five to six days a week. Sometimes, I had daily posts. When that one filled up, I got another one and did a great job hiding it from the nosy people I grew up with (i.e., my little sister and mom).
My little sister was mad because I didn’t confide in her. She was also a snitch and would tell everything. Why would I tell a known snitch my secrets when they would betray me at any time? She must’ve thought I was stupid and didn’t know any better. Back then, there was no Blogger, Bluehost, WordPress, or anything. There weren’t smartphones, Kindles, or social media.
Growing up, I became more careful about where I left my diary at home. I would keep it in a foot locker or a book bag in case my sister wanted to break into my locker. I kept a combination lock on it, and she was pissed I wouldn’t give her the combination. When she tattled, my mom and grandma took my side, telling her it was my locker, and my grandma told her it wasn’t her business what I kept in there.
I kept my diary writing up through adulthood. When I moved to Detroit, the people I worked with were assholes and entitled to know every single thing about you. I wrote what I thought about the folks I lived with and worked with. One of my roommates found my diary when she was supposed to get a pair of scissors from my room, and my diary was on my bed. She read it and was mad. Later on, she gave me her diary to read. I didn’t read it but returned it to her by saying I respect my roommates’ personal property and private thoughts. I hope you will respect mine in the future.
I kept it even when I went to Houston, and luckily, the roomies didn’t read it because I kept it on my person. Mainly because they didn’t know I kept one for my mental health. Had my Detroit roommates asked me why I kept one, they would’ve backed off and dropped it altogether. At that time, MySpace, Facebook, and social media emerged. That story and hoopla over that usage is another story I’ll tell later.
Vlogmas Day 5 is live, and I’ll see you on Day 6!
