Anniversary

March twenty-fourth marked my fifth year on OD.  I didn’t even realize it until one day I decided to go back through some of my entries for a little nostalgia session.  I guess it was good timing because what’s better to do to celebrate an anniversary than to look back on all those years? 

I’m really glad I’ve kept a journal/diary all of these years.  I first started online blogging over on LiveJournal back in 2001.  My friend at the time knew of someone who had a journal and so he decided to set one up of his own.  I thought it was a neat idea so I sat at his computer and created my own account.  Soon after we started blogging, everyone else in our town caught on.  We were definitely pioneers in our town.

Back then, I didn’t think of myself as a writer.  In fact, I had never really written down my thoughts before.  And for the first year or two, I didn’t write about how I was feeling inside.  It was mostly used to chronicle my daily activities.  I guess I wasn’t as comfortable writing about my feelings back then, not really used to going inside of myself to figure out how I was feeling and why I was feeling that way.  Plus, several of my classmates read my blog and I guess I didn’t want to get too personal.

But eventually I did want to get personal but on a site where no one knew me.  You know, in case I needed to talk some smack about them.  And so I found OpenDiary.  If I remember correctly, I wrote a few entries before I abandoned ship and just used LiveJournal.  I later went back and have been writing in here ever since.  I wonder if my old diary is floating around in OD limbo somewhere.  Maybe it didn’t survive that hacker attack from way back when.  I’m okay with that as long as this baby doesn’t disappear on me.

As I mentioned earlier, I was looking back on some of my old entries.  I like to go back and relive what I was going through, to reflect on what I’ve learned and if I’ve matured any since that time.  In a lot of ways, I think I have.  In a lot of ways, I feel the same.  I feel I’ve calmed down an lot throughout the years.  Although I am still a phsyco crazy mess, I’m not nearly as neurotic as I used to be.  It’s a maturity that just comes with age, not so much experience because I still haven’t experienced very much.  It’s just the kind of maturity that comes with a lot of thinking.  You think enough and eventually things straighten themselves out.  Many of the things I thought mattered no longer phase me.  I feel my priorities have shifted a great deal and I’m better for it.  Although I feel I’ve learned a lot about myself through my writing and although I feel I’m wiser, I still feel like I don’t know who I am or what I want to be.  I’m still stuck in my body and my mind.  I’m still worrying about some of the same old things.  I’m still fat and still struggling with body image.  I still feel incredibly awkward and have limited social skills.  I’m still insecure and I still don’t think very highly of myself.  It’s something I’ve been struggling with for years and fear I will continue to struggle with for years to come.  I feel like I’ve simultaneously matured while remaining stagnant. 

This is also true of my writing.  While I feel my writing has approved overall, there are only a few pieces that really blow me away.  And we all know how tough I am on myself so If I like something I’ve done, chances are it’s legitimately good.  The sad thing is I haven’t written anything that’s blown me away lately.  I’m simply uninspired.  When I first started writing, I had all of these emotions that I needed to express.  All of my sensitivity, all of my romance and love and fantasy that I had stored away inside of me was looking for an outlet.  Writing provided that.  And as I discovered how fun and theraputic writing could be, I began to unfurl all those untapped thoughts and feelings and put them into poetry and reflections.  Unfortunately, all of that inspiration was not a bottemless well that I could draw from endlessly.  All the fantasy scenarios have been written about.  All the love I’ve ever had to give has been put on display in word form.  That part of me was written down and it’s no longer inside of me so I have nothing to draw from anymore.  I feel I’ve said all I can say about all of that and what’s left for me?  I can’t think of much.

And yet, I still have ideas.  They keep coming but the inspiration to turn them into something substantial has withered away.  Writing started as therapy and then turned into an art but when that was tapped out, it reverted back to therapy and that’s where I stand with writing now.  I go back on forth on whether I’m okay with that or not.  Ideally, it would both be an art and a therapy.  Ideally, I would be able to express myself beautifully and perhaps inspire others as a result.  Realistically, the good stuff is trapped in my head and I can’t seem to get it out like I used to.  There’s a block there.

So, my life in five years and unfortunately, it hasn’t been much of one.  Sure, I’ve discovered a lot more about myself and discovered that I’ve enjoyed the discovery process.  I’ve picked up a hobby in writing that turned into a passion.  I graduated high school, community college, and soon university.  I ranted about my two jobs and the friends I made out of coworkers.  I battled my weight and body image.  I wrote about my strained relationship with God and eventually realized that He was never in the wrong.  I made it to my dream school only to find out it was the complete opposite of what I had always hoped it would be.  I’ve been to the deep end of depression and yet managed to climb myself out only to have life continue to crap on me.  I’ve battled bad roommates, bad friends and myself.  I realized my dream of becoming an animator, yet, once again, I realized it wasn’t the kind of dream I had hoped it would be.  I’ve questioned my talent, behavior and mind.  I’ve come to the realization that I most likely won’t ever have a girlfriend/wife and I’m fine with that.  I’ve realized that I need to spend more time taking care of myself rather than taking care of others.  I don’t believe in love or friendship.  And I truly believe I’ve become more cynical, more empty, and much darker throughout the past five years.  My heart is hard and I don’t even care anymore.  And through it all, I’ve written about it.  

I look back on random entries and I can feel my youth.  I feel that eighteen-year-old kid who still had hope.  I feel that twenty-one-year-old who still won’t drink even thought he’s legally allowed to.  I feel that twenty-two-year-old who felt everything shift.  And here I am, at twenty-three, feeling like the shifting is coming to a close.  With graduation, I think my newest incarnation will be complete.  I feel myself changing more and more with each passing day, falling away from the Brannon at the start of this diary and turning into a Brannon that I never expected to be.  I’m still not sure whether or not this is a good thing.  I do know one thing and that is that no matter how I turn out, I’ll be here, writing all about it.

Happy five year OD anniversary, Bran Bran.