Thursday, February 25, 2010

Notes from 2010: August 25, 1998.

I mention Wicca, magick and praying to a God and Goddess for the first time in this post. Izzy, Alyssa, me, and a couple other friends from school got interested in Wicca in eighth grade. As I recall it we were primarily inspired by The Craft, though we had heard about Wicca before that. But after we saw the movie, we read more about the religious and magickal aspects, started identifying as Wiccan, decided that four or five of us were a coven, and tried to perform some spells. I recorded a lot of that in my diary at that time, which is what I'm referring to when I talk about how people would think I was crazy if they read old entries. (For the record, I no longer identify as specifically Wiccan, though I do still like a lot of the beliefs. I also don't worry about people thinking I was crazy for believing what I did anymore, since in retrospect being severely depressed and suicidal was a lot closer to crazy than a belief in magick.)

I mention my brother Colin for the first time in this entry. I have another brother, Brock, who I'll likely mention at some point as well. I think Colin had broken up with a girlfriend recently, hence needing extra love and support.

I also reference an old fight with my mother that was still bothering me. I can't remember what that was about anymore, but it sounds like I tried to open up to her about something and wasn't thrilled with her reaction.

My issues with my father are expanded on somewhat here. A little extra background: My parents got divorced when I was in late elementary school. By the middle of junior high, my father had started a relationship with a divorced woman who had a family of her own. He got very involved with them, and his relationship with his own kids suffered as a result. I had set days of the week when I saw him, and since Brock and Colin were both too old for that, realistically I think they saw him much less often than I did. Unfortunately, by the time I was 14 or so, our visits weren't very enjoyable anymore.

Dad spent most of our time together with his girlfriends' kids, and I was just expected to tag along, hoping he'd notice me now and then. I still don't think it's exaggerating to say that he acted very uninterested in my life, and my brothers' lives, and didn't bother to get to know the people we were growing up to be. I'm sorry to say he still doesn't make much effort, but I'm more or less reconciled to that now. Sometimes it still hurts my feelings, but... he's an imperfect man. He did the best he could.

He's often gone off on ideological kicks, incorporating ideas and beliefs into his worldview that may or may not be a part of it six months or a year later. At the time of this entry, he was on a "never apologize, and never do anything for someone without expecting something in return" kick. I can't remember how long it lasted, but it was a bit disturbing to witness. I'm glad I was skeptical enough not to buy into it. It never seemed to make him particularly happy.

This is also the first entry where I talk about feeling like I might rather die than live. I backtrack immediately-but the thoughts were already building.

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