I was the girl keeping a journal on every thing in her life whether it was vital or not. Today I was trying to re-read my first official journal, a four inch Lisa frank notepad, from the first part of eight grade.
Beyond the many spelling errors was the narrative of awkward preteen angst. Filled with dramatic retellings of mean parents and recounting typical days of junior high life. Though the fifty pages or so mostly consisted of wondering when a boy named Jack* was going to notice me. I might have been a slight stalker. I wrote about his many girlfriends that school year (he had A LOT). About how much I hated them and thought they were not right for him (obviously, I was). Pages and pages of my thirteen-year-old self, writing about how I was too good for him. Only to discuss all the reasons why we were soul mates in the next entry.
Jack wasn’t my first infatuation. I had many, starting in fourth grade when I was fascinated with a boy named Taylor*. Our love never was because my selfish parents decided to move us out of the city to a small town twenty minutes away. Before Jack, the worst heartbreak I suffered was from Luke* the summer before seventh grade. Looking back now I realize that Luke was just a slight infatuation. Jack, on the other hand, was a borderline obsession. At the time I thought I couldn’t live without him.
When I was younger I always related better to fictional characters than real people. (Let’s be honest, I still do.) I pictured myself finding my soul mate from just a glance and after seeing Jack’s “pure blue” eyes, (which I mention A LOT in the journal) I knew we were meant to be.
Like I wrote in previous posts, I was incredibly reclusive. Trying to get a boy to like me while being cripplingly shy is pretty horrific. Which makes for some unbearable, but entertaining moments. So, the next couple of weeks I will be recounting some of my most awkward stories centered on the boy who broke my heart countless times, without even really trying.
*Names have been changed because I like mystery.