Week 2: A Fat Mess of a Funeral

I have a vivid memory of a time when my friends were over at my house when I was about 15, and I was doing something in one area of my room with my friend, "Alice", and then I heard my other friend, "Veronica," who had busied herself over by my bed, say, "Aw, Emma, are you okay? You know we love you, right?" Alice and I, who were probably playing Animal Crossing, stopped and thought, "what the hell is she talking about?" and once I looked over to her, my heart dropped. Veronica was holding my black notebook from Urban Outfitters, that had little black and white skulls, and band stickers on it, and I recognized it right away. It was my diary.

While Alice and I were doing some very important business on our Nintendo's, Veronica had decided that it was okay to reach into my drawer, and start reading my diary. During this time I was going through my emo phase, and I had been writing a lot in this diary about all of my angsty feelings. It wasn't anything of importance, I was just complaining about things and making a big deal out of nothing. Plus, since I was in my emo phase, the music I listened to only amplified my sad thoughts. I wasn't necessarily sad, and nothing in there would've been about her, or would've showed anything other than a melodramatic Paramore fan, so I knew she didn't get anything valuable out of it, but the act itself was enough to make my blood boil.

I probably should've seen this as a red flag, since 6 years later, Veronica and I have had our fair share of falling outs. I was upset by the blatant violation of my privacy, but she didn't see what the big deal was, because she's a textbook narcissist, so I let it go. Ever since that day, I've always had a paranoia about keeping a diary. I am so terrified that I will write about someone and then they will find it, or that someone will read my embarrassing emo thoughts, when I'm not looking.

At first when I read the prompt, I instantly thought, yes. I would love for my kids to one day be able to read my thoughts, just like how I would love to read my parents diaries. Then after reading through the articles, my mind quickly changed and I was reminded of that faithful day in my room with my friends.

I would absolutely hate it if someone read my private thoughts, even if I am long gone. I don't have anything to contribute to the world with my diary. I haven't lived in some crazy period in history that wouldn't be documented in the media, and I am not someone who would have some profound outlook on life.

In the article, "Some day someone will read your journal," the author talks about how most diaries consist of appointments, and recordings of things that happened during the day, and for me that would be a wonderful thing to read over by myself. I like the idea of a diary being just for you and no one else.

What if one day, my boyfriend does something that annoys me, and I write about all my negative feelings about him? Nothing that would warrant a break up, just petty complaints, just to let all my anger out. If he read that, he would no doubt take it the wrong way, and it would be a big deal. I think everyone needs their own private thoughts, so you can get over it, and move on with your life.

The idea of my family and friends reading my diary after I die, just sounds like one fat mess of a funeral. If my whole family and all of my friends (besides the 3 of my friends who can literally do no wrong) read my diary after I died, it would reopen so many scars from the past, that shouldn't have been reopened in the first place. My first thought was, imagine how much drama this would start. During my parents divorce I wrote some nasty stuff about both of them, so I could keep myself from getting angry at them during a difficult time. I already know if my mom read that, she would bring me back to life, just to kill me again.

I definitely would not leave it up to someone else to decide what happens to my diaries when I die. Doing this prompt has opened my eyes a bit, and I realized there's only one person in my life who I know wouldn't read my diary if I asked, and that's my brother. If I told him to burn my diary, and not to read it, he would do it, no questions asked, and he would tell everyone else after the fact. Even if he did take a quick peak, he wouldn't find anything of interest, or he would open up a page about my desperate love for Tom Hardy, and would close it immediately, not wanting to tarnish the image of his little sister forever.

It's not to say that I would use a diary just to talk bad about my whole family, but I wouldn't want them speculating about me postmortem. This point was echoed in, "Why you should never read someone elses journal" and in "Burning your diaries," who both discussed the idea of your loved ones thinking that these thoughts, your worst times and your most miserable thoughts, are how you felt when you died, or even all your life. They could think that there was something they should've or could've done at those points in time, or feel guilty about how you felt at that moment and I wouldn't want that at all.

I wouldn't want anyone speculating about my death or about certain times that they recognize from the diary, and I think a lot of things should just be left unsaid. Sure, if there is something you want to say to your loved ones, you can always leave them a letter, or even like the article, "Some day someone will read your journal of record" said, you could write an autobiography that exemplifies who you were, how you want to be known.

I would read other people's diaries though. Is that hypocritical? Yes. But, how can I resist? We are all so nosy by nature, and that is precisely the reason why I don't want people reading my diaries, and why destroying them sounds like a much more appealing idea to me now. Even if I left them in the hands of a loved one and told them to not read it, and to just destroy it, I'm sure they'd take a quick peek. I know how badly I'd want to read my parents dairies, even if they told me not to, and I know I probably still would if they told me to destroy it, because I can't help myself. Just like how the writer in "Burning your diaries" put it, "diaries are irresistible. And I am an unregenerate snoop." I think we all are deep down inside, it's our instinct to try to understand things we don't know, to be curious about the things people hide form us, and to speculate on things, that probably have nothing to do with us.