Today if I come up with a few four letter words, I want to apologize beforehand.
I’m guess you can say I’m angry today. Today I discovered a diary I tried to hide from the freaks (gang stalkers) was no longer a secret. I’d hidden the diary in the only place I thought was safe. But since the freaks found it, I guess it was not a safe place.
I discovered that the diary no longer exists. All but about four of the pages are missing. Five pages left that are meaningless. All the things I’d written, private thoughts, are out there for all to see. They just tore the pages out. They didn’t’ even try to hide the fact that pages are missing.
This is a diary I’ve kept for years, since about the age of 16. To discover the freaks have it really makes me want to behead every one of them.
This is the second time someone has taken pages out of my diary. The first time it happened was when I was living with my sister in Arizona. I left the diary in my suitcase (locked) when I decided to come to Vegas to check it out. I left the suitcase behind because I was returning to Arizona, and then moving to Vegas.
Before I left Arizona, I decided to go through all my things and throw out what I felt I no longer needed. While going through my stuff, I ran across my diary. So I began to look through it. About 20 pages were missing. The only one who had access to my diary was my sister. She even left a note in the diary. I was very angry the first time I discovered pages missing from my diary. I forced myself not to say anything to my sister. I Needed a place to stay, and I knew if I said anything to her, she’d throw me out. So I kept quiet, but my insides were festering. I, somehow, managed to control myself.
So now to discover the freaks stole most of the pages out of my diary was another stab in the back. Now I understand some of the remarks that they’ve made to me.
So I’m going to burn the five or six pages I have left. Every time I look at the diary it makes me think of the awful things I’ve had to endure. It’s better to let it go, and start new memories.
Well, I’ve managed to control myself and not use profanity. Believe me, the anger I feel for what these freaks have put me through pales in comparison to my anger.
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That’s a very good idea to write in code. It’s nice someone understands my anger about the diary. If I were younger, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much, but being a grown woman, the memories in that diary are gone. Thank you for your response.
I feel your pain about the diary. When I was 15 I had my brother read my diary. I was furious. I retaliated by starting to write in code. It was a code that I’d started with friends when I was in sixth grade, but we had quickly outgrown it. By the time I resurrected it, I was the only one who knew how to decode it. Even though it’s a fairly easy code to decipher, it would take the average person too long to do it, so that reading my diary would be a big chore. I’ve now been writing in this same code for forty years. I can read and write it as though I were writing in regular English, but nobody else can do that. Even still, I find I occasionally write in code within my code–just to be safe.