What we've been through

Dear diary,                                                                            20//17//2018

It is the first time I ever take up keeping a diary, so it’s a pretty big day for me. I don’t really know what it means to do this, but I am ready to give it a go.

Today was a good day. I got up as usual at 6:20 in the morning. Don’t think I just got up, it’s not that easy for me. I have four alarms going off before I get up, but it just doesn’t work any other way. I opened the blinds and my window and got dressed. Every day I take the clothes to the bathroom….it just seems to take shorter when I get ready this way. 21 minutes exactly. Every time. On the clock. I exit the bathroom, go to my room and close the window. It was a chilly day. Then I grabbed my backpack and ran down the stairs for coffee. I greeted my mother and petted my dog on my way to the coffee machine. Madness, that coffee machine, it makes so much noise, it can wake up the whole house and the neighbors. I drank my coffee in silence, at least I tried to, it seemed like my mother had waited for someone, anyone, to wake up to talk to…And I was her first victim. But the talking was just background noise, I couldn’t concentrate on it. Then I glanced up and looked at the clock. 7:09. It was getting late, I bagged my sandwich and got dressed. 7:10. Time to go.

My way to the metro never takes more than 6 minutes, that is if I go to school. The metro always comes at 7:19. I already know many of the people on the train, but only by sight. On the way, I listen to music and read. I never really get bored on the way. Sometimes I like to guess people’s personalities by the look of their shoes, maybe even try to guess their profession. Anyway, I got to school. It all went pretty smoothly. I floated through the day. When the final bell rang I rushed home, did some homework, ate and got ready for basketball training. The mother of a friend of mine took us to the school where we practice. It all went smoothly there too. 

At 22:30 I arrived back home. Showered and read a bit. Now I am writing this. I guess a wave of inspiration must have hit me. It’s getting late. I think I will head to bed. 

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

It’s the second day writing this. I feel motivated, I promise to fill you up and keep you until I am old. I am really excited about the idea. Today went alright. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I got up, took the 7:19 metro to school, returned home, ate, went to practice. Oh, but at practice, I laughed my head off. The coach got really mad. I don’t think I have ever run that much in my entire life. But it was worth it, I swear.

Dear diary,                                                                           dd//mm//yy

It was a sunny Wednesday. I got ready for school as usual, but today I forgot to grab a pair of socks when I went to the bathroom this morning, which led to the usual 21 minutes to be 22. Then I even had to change the coffee in the coffee machine because it was stale. So the usual minutes to drink my coffee almost halved. Even though I ran to the metro station, I still missed the 7:19 train. I waited for another whole 13 minutes. I didn’t recognize anyone on this train. I felt awkward and starred at. So neither music nor the book I was trying to read did the trick. I didn’t feel like doing anything. What a way to start the day. At school I felt distracted, it wasn’t smooth sailing at all. Anyway, when the bell finally rang I felt incredibly exhausted and kind of dragged my body home. I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, I had to get ready for practice. 

The coach wasn’t having such a good day either, we didn’t really get to touch the ball this training. When I got home this evening I felt crushed. I took a quick shower. Now I sit down, my eyes burning. It’s getting late. I think I will head to bed. 

Dear diary,                                                                         dd//mm//yy

Today I woke up and didn’t feel like moving at all. My whole body was sore. I dragged myself through the house. I slurped my coffee and went to school. I crept through the corridors. I had massive dark rings under my eyes. I wasn’t feeling very well. I didn’t really pay much attention to the day. I just kind of went with it. I don’t really get the point of keeping a journal if nothing really happens. Today I didn’t have practice. I will do earlier to bed. 

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

I have recently found you again. It’s been over a year. My life hasn’t changed that much. I still play basketball, but I keep having these tantrums. I feel like not improving at all. And it hurts because I really like playing. After the last game, I punched the wall so hard, I made a small bend in it. To be honest, it wasn’t the best material, but it still frightens me. I am determined to start keeping this journal again.

Dear diary,                                                          dd//mm//yy

Even though I promised myself to quit having outings of anger, I can’t. It builds up so fast in me and I can’t handle it. I can’t punch people, can I? Basketball isn’t doing great, even if I try, I fail. I need to find motivation and peace. 

Dear diary,                                                                             dd//mm/yy

This weekend we have important games, I need to stay focused, so I decided to write in advance. The last week hasn’t been great, but I can’t just complain, I have to try to get stuff done. This is my chance. I will fight and try more than I have ever tried. 

Dear diary,                                                                           dd//mm//yy

It has been some time since I have last opened you. I have never been more ashamed. My last game was over a week ago. I haven’t been able to play since, and I am ashamed to tell anyone what truly happened. My right hand is in a cast. I have a pretty ugly broken finger. The funny thing is, I didn’t even feel it break. I will never admit anyone what happened.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

They found out, so I might as well tell you. I was trying really hard to prove that I can, that I forgot why I was playing in the first place. I must have put a tiny bit to much pressure on myself. When the coach called for a change and called me off the field I must have lost it. I punched a wall. It didn’t hurt, but when I looked at it, it looked funny. I was rushed to the hospital, tears of anger streaming down my face. They did an X-ray and told me it was broken pretty bad. I broke down in tears. My mother was fighting hers. The doctor that placed my knuckle it back, spoke German. He was a sweet, old guy. The game had ended and the coach and a few of the girls came to see me. I was trying so hard to fight back the tears. I smiled the whole time. 

Dear diary,                                                                         dd//mm//yy 

It’s been two weeks since I broke my finger, they still don’t know whether or not to operate it.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

Tomorrow I am having my operation. I’ve been told that it’s not a hard procedure, but I am still going to be asleep the whole time. I am incredibly afraid. But the feeling of shame is bigger. I’ll get through it.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

I’m now one-week post-operation. It feels like ages since the injury. I have lost some weight, but I have gotten used to the idea. At least that’s what I like to think. I know I was a mess at that time. The only thing I hope is that I will stop being a mess afterward. It’s almost New Year’s Eve. I had bought a dress before breaking my finger. I hope to get to wear it, that’s why I hope to remove my cast.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

They removed my cast. I have an orthosis. I fit in my dress. But I won’t wear it.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

 Happy New Year! I do exercises for my hand, all the muscles are atrophied.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

It’s been one hell of a ride during these four months, but I am ready to start my training. I still fear breaking it again by accident, but I try to overcome it. My shooting is bad for the moment, but it will eventually come back….I hope.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

I have recently just found you. It’s been 5 years since the injury. Honestly? I haven’t thought about it at all in the past time. It’s all good now. I still have a tiny scar, but I guess battle wounds do have to stay, huh? I still play basketball, but my time is limited, the university takes a lot of my free time, but it’s not that bad. I am finally doing what I like and chose. I must have lost my exercise in writing a journal. Anyway, it’s getting late. I think I will head to bed.

Dear diary,                                                                   dd//mm//yy 

I must try to take better care of you, I still remember the day I got you. I am 35 five now. Never would I have thought to ever find you again. Reading what I wrote years ago brings back a lot of memories. It was some ride through all these years. It’s all good now. I feel weird writing a journal at my age, but it feels like home. I have a place now, a husband and two kids. I’ve come pretty far, haven’t I? Oh, I hear them running up the stairs. I promise to try to write more.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

 I am back, as promised, nothing big happens. Actually no, I am lying. I have gotten an offer from a publication. They want me to write for them. I am scared. I feel 16 all over again. But I will manage. I can do it.

Dear diary,                                                                            dd//mm//yy

I know I promised, but I honestly forgot. Do you know how long I have had you? It’s been 60 years. Madness. In the meantime, I have published some works I am pretty proud of. I have grandkids. I am old and all wrinkled. It’s an incredibly snowy winter. Everything has been white for a few months now. It’s really cold outside. My bones hurt, especially my finger. I wish to have never started throwing tantrums.

Dear diary,                                                                            11//01//2078

Keeping a diary at 76 years old may be odd, but so was the dream I had last night. I was 16 all over again, at the same game I broke my hand. But when I was called off the court. I sat down quietly. I managed an average game. Over the next few weeks, my motivation started to give in. Eventually, I stopped playing. I focused on school. Aced some tests, failed some other, lost a tiny part of myself. Felt partially empty. Fast forward I didn’t get into the university I had wanted and ended up somewhere else, I didn’t really like. I graduated and struggled to find the job I wished for. Things weren’t lining up. I woke up confused and scared. I touched the tiny bump on my hand, where the bone broke and stroke my fingers over the small scar near my wrist. I smiled shyly and shook my head. Then I fell asleep.