diary

From age 16 I kept a diary, this continued until I was 42. How easily I could rediscover the boy obsessed teenager, the social life of my university years and be surprised at how memory plays tricks. Convinced by a recollection, I’d read back and see it was false, not how I’d recorded it at all. Could my recording also be false? What is truth?

For years I moved with these diaries into a series of house shares. Pages and pages of the past, biro bio, I developed a love hate relationship and fantasised about destroying them. In Nottingham in the mid nineties I had ripped one up, immediately feeling horrified that I no longer had the ‘complete’ set of my life! Could I free myself from the compulsion to write every night? After 26 years it is a challenging question. Too much self reflection, yuk, and its physical bulk grew and grew. It was HEAVY. I felt chained. 

There seems to be a universal belief that we SHOULD keep our diaries, that they may be useful to others in the future. A compulsion that every moment must be recorded, every moment could be commodified. What about having a private thought? Not one ounce of me wants anyone to read my diary. 

I shared on Facebook that I was considering destroying my diaries, testing the idea, making it solid. The response was surprising, people were genuinely horrified and couldn't relate to the idea of 'freeing myself'', they warned of regret. Something powerful was bringing peoples ‘stuff’ to the surface. I fantasised about making a ritual out of burning them, but in the end tore them into pieces and recycled them. It took a couple of evenings and I destroyed in year order, following some internal logic. Before ripping them I read through, copying out some pages: most movingly the days around my fathers death when I was 19. It was emotional reading about this and my past loves, past hopes.

It felt naughty to stop writing and I did so for over a year, but on the 30th of December, 2014 I began again. Not writing helped me to recognise the benefit this activity holds for me and as the first day in my new diary approached I felt excited. In the first week of this year I attended a local writers group, and this notion that we should keep our diaries came up, that they are a mine of information for the writer. I understand this position but have not felt regret for my actions. It was necessary to help me look forward, to be who I am now and to recycle a long winded keepsake which held a lot of negativity. It let me endlessly repeat the old stories and old hurts, time to move on.