Live April 29 and 30, 2010, at the Mission Theater. For a DVD of the show, email sclarecarleton@gmail.com.
First, a little background: I grew up in Eugene with my 2 sisters and my mom and dad. I was always pretty intense and took myself very seriously. When I hit middle school, I went through the typical teenage mood swings, but my struggle with self-esteem and depression got pretty serious so my parents made me start seeing a therapist, which I was not thrilled about.
Then my parents got separated when I was in high school, and I felt the only control I had was with obsessing over food and being skinny. Being the only parent at home, my mom became the food police and the lucky recipient of all my adolescent rage. [Sorry, Mom!]
But even in the depths of my despair, I was still able to distract myself with boys and used my journal as my emotional outlet. And sometimes just writing about my day wasn't enough, so I also expressed my tortured existence through thinly-veiled autobiographical stories and poetry.
The following are my journal entries from March to September 1994, when I was 15.
March 6, 1994
I hate Mom…The bitch just wants to sit on her ass all day at home sticking her nose in everyone’s business. I can’t wait until I’m on my own and away from her. She’s such a nosy bitch. She wonders why I’m in a bad mood. It’s because of her. Enough about that idiot. Last night Ani and I went to the basketball game in Salem. It was so much fun. Today I’ll do everything I can to piss Mom off. She deserves it. I kiss her ass all the time and I can’t stand it. She’s so stupid.
Mom probably reads this too. Go ahead, Mom. You can read my other journal too if you really want. Why don’t I just lend it to you to use? It’d be much easier.
Dear Diary,
I’ve been feeling so gross. I’ve had this problem with constipation for a few days now. I’ll try to eat more fruit. That should do something.
We see Dad tomorrow.. Great, another cram-it-all-in-while-I-can session with sappiness and annoying comments on how pretty we are. I hate it. It just makes everything seem even more pathetic. I want to crawl away and hide.
Dear Diary,
Laughter
Mistaken for
Sorrow
A giggle
Or a sob?
Tears
Of joy
Or pain?
It doesn’t matter
They’re all the same.
Dear Diary,
When someone isn’t happy, I feel responsible. When things aren’t going right, I feel I have to do something about it or I’ll be blamed for others’ unhappiness. Why? I think I’ll do as my therapist said and study the feeling the next time I have it. What’s going to happen with David?? I hope something! Right now I think it’s important we at least strengthen our friendship. He’s funny, nice, good-looking, smart, fun, and a great guy.
Dear Diary,
FEAR
She is the girl you see at school rushing off to class or talking with her friends. She is the one who hides her problems behind a braces smile. She tries breaking free of the bars that cage her in, tried searching for the key to freedom. She runs endlessly from a shadow, but can outrun the mysterious figure no longer. It grabs her shoulders with its cold, clammy fingers and she is forced to face reality. The figure steps into the light, her heart pounds with fear. Its image becomes clear. She looks into its eyes. They are her own.
Dear Diary,
I am so pissed off. Mom is such a pain as usual. She’s always asking what’s wrong and saying, It’s just because I care, in her annoying way. Did she ever just think, maybe I don’t want to talk to her! She never shuts up about my weight either. She can tell me all about what I should be eating while she drinks all the damn diet pop she wants and uses nonfat margarine, the bitch.
Dear Diary,
I had a good day. I feel really good about myself right now. I love David! I have a strange good feeling this could last for awhile. I don’t know what to do, though. Sometimes I feel shy around him and I don’t know how to act. I am so afraid of rejection and disapproval. That’s why I hold back in relationships and don’t let myself go.
Dear Diary,
WHO AM I?
Never pleased
Always trying
Never happy
Always smiling
Never emotional
Always Crying
Never in love
Always longing
Never myself
Always me.
Dear Diary,
I know Mom and Dad have been reading this and I’m really mad. Can’t anything be private around here? What do they do, search my room when I’m gone? Well, as soon as I’m out of here I can do whatever I want. Ha ha! I’ll be free!
Dear Diary,
I feel like a dork. Things with David aren’t really going anywhere. It seems we used to laugh and joke a lot more. It just seems it came naturally and more easily before. I think I may be boring him. I feel guys’ll judge me and not like me if I be myself totally and not think about it. God, I’m too serious. That’s one problem. I really ruin a lot of my chances because I’m such a dork. I’m going to do something about that.
I get nervous that I’m too fat for Dave Matthews or Michael Stipe to like me.
Dear Diary,
Things are great! I love HIM so much! I even get this ache in my chest when I think about him and I want to see him. I want to see him and just give him a big kiss! (By the way, Mom and Dad, I hope you’re enjoying this.)
Dear Diary,
My eyes searched his face. Our gazes meet and I find myself staring into deep pools of mystery. I run my hand over his smooth cheek and let his silken hair slip through my fingers. We sit for a moment, his hand clasping mine at his face. In a slow, almost dreamlike movement, he touches his long finger to my lips, lingering there as if to tease. Then I sense his strong arms at my back, pulling my body toward his. I yield to his power, but still feel in control of my actions. His face becomes closer and our lips meet in a climactic unity.
Dear Diary,
I’m sick of going from depression to nervousness and panic. I want love. I want to spend long nights with him, just staring into his eyes and kissing his perfect lips. Yeah how many friggin girls have said this.
Well fuck them all.
I wish the world would go fuck itself then collapse and die.
Dear Diary,
My life is hell. Nothing makes me happy. I hate who I’ve become and I can’t deal with anything. I can only take so much pain. I wish I could leave the world and come back when I’m ready. I hope you’re enjoying this, Mom and Dad. Get out the Prozac, hurry!
Dear Diary,
Control
Slipping through my fingers
Happiness
A faded memory from the past
True joy
A language I once knew
Pain
A constant presence
I cannot feel your hand in mine
I lost the path long ago
Do you know the way
Dear Diary,
Today is the day. I am back on track. I will find myself, because I have lost my way and myself. I want to get the person out, the one who laughs and feels good and likes herself. But it will take a while to rescue her. It is time for it all to end and for it all to begin. Have respect for yourself. Make it your goal to FEEL GOOD. Be proud of your body. Kiss your boyfriend with glee. Because you are really happy and aren’t just putting on an act.
Dear Diary,
I already feel a lot better. Why did I waste all that time being gross and depressed? It’s amazing how I could live in depression for so long. I can’t be afraid to let out my feelings and rip them out into the open. It is healthier to face them and deal with them.
Dear Diary,
I have numbed myself. But it is now time to feel again.
It is time to find the person I once was
To kill the demons inside me
To be a person again
To laugh, smile and sing
And really feel it
Time to know happiness again
September 5, 1994
Today was a turning point in several ways. The last day of summer, the last day of work. I’m excited for change and new things. I’ve done a lot this summer and when people ask me what I did, I want to tell them-- I worked my butt off at Taco Bell, watched my skin become uglier as the days went by, went to a yearbook workshop, did 51 ½ hours of community service, learned to eat better, learned more about myself with the help of my therapist, went to the Oregon Country Fair, discovered my hair’s limits when it comes to chemical processes, had several conflicts with my parents and got over a deep depression. It was a memorable summer and all in all, worth it.
Want to share the shame? Visit getmortified.com for more!
