11:14 a.m. on 11-26-22
Sometimes I go to my old diaryland (which I used before auto-complete dominated the world and changed "diaryland" to "dairyland" 4x as I was just typing it) just to see if it's still there, with a feeling in my gut like "there's no way it's going to be there, no way this shit is not WaybackMachine.org-able only for viewing."
But every time...it's there!
And wow, I still remember my password. It's a password I've used nowhere else, and has a pretty unique and difficult to remember structure, which I won't go into but likely other early diaryland members know, because I think we were just assigned these passwords or something. I'm glad there's somewhere in my mind that stores these numbers. They're like little built-in time machines, these codes/scripts.
Pretty big hunk of my life on this online diary.
I signed into it today because I found myself looking at virtual DePaul University campus tours, and thinking about my time there in depth (something I rarely have done since about 2009). I found this freshman's vlog on YouTube and watched close to all of it, with this feeling of...jeez. Well. I won't go into all of that. But she seemed like someone maybe a little like I was at the time–not in personality, just broadly, in youth. Maybe it's a little harder for young people to make friends now than it was in 2004. Probably not "maybe," probably definitely.
Sometime last year or the year before I showed my husband this journal, maybe a few times...we clicked through it...showing each other our early 2000s online journals...so cool to have these things out here on the internet still. I think his was WaybackMachine.org-able only.
I don't really have anything to say except I wanted to say something.
Life got pretty bad for me for a period (2011-2019). But I wrote a couple books during that time. I hated that I wrote these for a long time, because they're very personal/self-exploitative and made securing a private and relatively "normal" space in life more complicated for me in the years following their publication, but I've come to actually regard these as cool and important documents. Not all people write really publicly about their private bad times in life. If anyone actually reads this thing and is interested in knowing any more about this, I wrote this thing that says more than I feel like going into now. Wow I had to break out the ol' "a href=" tag to do that!!
Maybe I should start writing in here again. I don't really write anymore, have a hard time doing it. Diaryland feels private and innocent and not much has changed about the layout, where I once felt so...at home...in my zone...or something. Dang, just remembered the feeling of sitting at my computer station in a house my family moved out of in 2008.
So much has changed about life!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! SHITBALLALAASSSSSSS!!!!! BALALAIKKAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'll just say a little: I live in a house in Baltimore between the water and a big ol park, with my aforementioned hubby and our dog Beavis. I work from home, helping connect folks with severe mental illness to resources that can make life a little bit easier but are often incredibly complicated and frustrating to access, and also mostly just offer some socialization and emotional support. Next fall I'm hoping to get into master's program in social work. I've been in a Jungian psychoanalysis since July 2017 (though actually I saw my analyst first from fall 2007-winter 2011), and that's what I'm hoping to study after my LCSW-C. The phrase "___ changed my life" is forever tainted by Natalie Portman quirkily cooing about the Shins to Zach Braff, but...analysis changed my dingdong life, verily saved it. In 2015, as the crags of rock bottom were beginning to tear at my clothes as entropy more than gravity fueled my descent, I found myself in a book shop on the eastern shore of Maryland. I hadn't thought about Jung or my analyst or anything of that nature in years. I saw a copy of the Collected Works, vol. 5 ("Symbols of Transformation") on the top shelf of this very dusty place, and all of a sudden my analyst's voice in my head, If you ever see a copy of the Collected Works, buy it. So I did. Over the next two years, I'd experience little chime-ins of her voice challenging my depressive thinking, which also guided me through a re-evaluation of perspective on my childhood. I finally worked up the courage to call her up in 2017, and worked up the courage to get sober not long after (but that is a whole long road in itself that I'm not gonna get into now). Things have been looking up since then.
I got some stuff I wanna do today on this day off of mine!!! Bye for now!!!!!!