It was a long time ago when my desire to write a book was on the top of my list of things to do. I had a lot of ideas and decided to form a couple of them into actual stories.
This was a book that I started probably 8 years ago or so. I don't completely remember everything that it was going to entail, but here is the beginning of it.
Should I go on to revise it and keep the idea? I'm just not sure of what to do with it.
This is how it starts...
April, 15 2007
To myself –
I can hear her sometimes. At least it seems as if I can. She is always in my thoughts. Is it crazy that she feels so very real after these years of being alone? I hope I’m not going insane. Please tell me I am not going insane…
Kyle came over the other day. He offered to help me get my bike working. It was a nice gesture I suppose, but after the wreck, maybe I don’t want it to work again. It would be nice to feel the speed again, but it scares me.
I still feel lost. Will this feeling ever go away?
-me
I starred at this page for a few moments after she abruptly got up and left. I wish I could have reached out to comfort her. Her journal entries always seemed to be the same. They were short, vague and a little distressing. I wish this was not the only way I could find out how she was feeling. Even if she would just talk to someone it would help. She was never one for expressing herself emotionally. I know she would have been mad at me before for reading her journal, but I figure she would feel differently now, or at least I hope she would.
A few times when I thought she was not acting herself, I read her journal. One time I looked in it to see if she would have written anything down about the change in behavior. She always thought my reasoning for getting her to write in her journal was so I could read it. I felt bad that I had led her to believe this. I did not know how to explain to her the real meaning. I had not written in a journal growing up. After realizing how much I wanted her to understand what I was feeling, I started writing in one. I wish she could have known the feelings I had at certain ages when she was going through the same things. Coming from me, being older and taken for granted, it just was not the same to her as it could have been. She would get so angry with me for looking and reading her entries. I understood it was wrong, but at the same time I really wanted to know her feelings. I always thought I did something wrong when rearing her. I thought it was my fault she did not open up to me. I compared others relationships to our own. I had to realize she was not other children, she is her own person. This just happened to be how she was. So, I stopped blaming myself and started prying into her life. She did not talk much, but she would write in her journal extensively.
One afternoon when she walked in on me looking at her journal, we got into a heated argument. I knew I was in the wrong, but I felt I had an obligation to make sure she was ok. After about an hour going back and forth on who was right and who was wrong, we made an agreement. She would try and be more open and talk with me about her problems, and I would steer clear from her journal. I knew she would not tell me everything, but at least it was a start.
It is my duty to protect her. I’m still trying to figure out how to do that. It is not easy when there is no communication. At times I feel I am walking around aimlessly in a world that I know nothing of. It is good to know sometimes she can feel that I am here with her. The most I can hope for is that I am influencing her more than I am aware of.
I am glad I put forth the effort of teaching her to write in her journal. I remembered how much she hated me for it. She thought it was a waste of time. I think I got her started on it when she was about eight. Children usually do not have much to write about, but they always find something. It may not even be of significance, but it is to them. I remember this one entry from the top of my head. I can quote it as if I read it daily. She wrote this only a little while after she began her writing.
Toseday, April 14 1994
Last night I saw a gost a green one and to wite ones. And I also saw a tranchla and it had 1,000 eys. I was so scerd. I couldet move they were coming closer. I had to do something so I wigeld my toes. And then I could move the rest of my body so I trnd on the light and they were stel ther. And I herd two hamers pawnding and the frigrater slam four times and foot stepes. Think that wus my dad.
She never told me about the crazy incidents at night. I am sure most of them were her imagination, but they must have terrified her. I know she had a lot of them because ever since I can remember she was afraid of being alone in the dark. Sometimes, she was just plain afraid of the dark. Those are the kinds of things I wish she could have read about me when I was that age. Maybe it could have helped her not be so scared. If she could see other children had fears too. I cannot be sure it would have helped, but I like to think it could have. I am glad she started writing when she did. Where would I be if I had not taught her? I would know nothing of what she thinks now. It would make my task be ten times harder than I already feel it is.
It has been over two years since I have been able to talk to her. She has a quiet soft voice. People say it reminds them of me. She used to be really outgoing. She would go out with her friends all the time. Reece, her stepfather, usually works a lot of hours. I am glad he is taking good care of her, but I wish they would have known each other better. Her long brown hair is something I have always treasured. I never wanted her to cut it short and she never did. I think she has grown to love it too though. She is average height I think, at least compared to her friends. I am not sure where she got her eye lashes, but they make her eyes look stunning. She is very motivated when she wants something, but stubborn when you tell her what to do. I can see so much of her in me now.
I used to be afraid of having children. I was apprehensive to the idea that they would become like me. I was not a bad person; I just thought other people were so much better. I did not want to fail. I would try to think of ways that I could be a better person so my faults would be hidden. Most of my trying happened while I was pregnant. It was good though. It helped me to see a lot of faults I had. I fixed a lot of them, but every time I changed one, I would see another.
After a small amount of time I used stressing over this, I realized it was not going to work. No matter how hard I tried, I was always going to have imperfections. Then my view of children changed. A few years after she was born I noticed that it did not matter what I did. After she was old enough, she would point out the flaws sometimes. She had her own personality. All I could do was teach her and be a good example. There are some things I wish I would have done better, but I think she turned out great. I do miss her all the time. Even when she is in the room or I can feel that she knows I am there. I miss being able to be her mother.
