Sarah Jane Smith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
his_sarah_jane) wrote2008-01-21 05:12 pm
his_sarah_jane) wrote2008-01-21 05:12 pm
Entry tags:
[Fandom Muses] January Prompt (Misc)
What are ten things that no one knows about you, and that you will not willingly tell anyone about?
I don’t know why I am writing this. Perhaps it is to finally voice these secrets out in the open. Or, at least, as open as my journal ever shall be. I wish I could tell someone. I’ve never quite been one to keep secrets unless it was of the most absolute importance. Like UNIT, for example. Or the Doctor. But my life, I find, has always been rather akin to an open book. It took me years to learn not to wear emotion on my sleeve, after all.
This isn’t easy to write, though. I don’t know why I ever imagined it to be. I must have been daft, thinking I could – oh, bloody hell, Sarah Jane! Just write.
I underwent therapy when I was thirteen not only due to Andrea’s death but because, at that point, I couldn’t understand why I was still alive. It was a rather bad case of depression. My parents had died; Andrea was lost right in front of my own eyes… If you had asked me then, I would have told you that there was no point to life. But these events and the help I then received from Aunt Lavinia and Doctor Mack changed my life. Life is worth living, if just for the fact that you’re alive.
I miss him. I know it’s probably quite obvious, but there only is one person I ever would admit this thought to and I will never see him again. Even though he said he would come back to me, it’s been over a year. He never will. And I, well, I love him. He is the only man I ever will love. I know that it is absolutely foolish and unrequited, but I do not care.
I have considered, time after time, having a family. It is not a top prerogative of mine, and certainly not something I will waste time longing after, especially considering that the man I love most will ever return. But when I see other women with their children, especially women holding their daughters, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if it were me. I’d love to have a daughter of my own to raise. It will never happen.
I happen to have a secret love of romance novels. I know that they are silly and simple, but they can be so very entertaining. Still, I think too highly of myself to ever be able to admit to this like.
When I was learning to shoot, I accidentally shot Mrs Henderson’s cat. I will never be able to forget the yowl of pain the animal let out. It frightened me so horribly that for weeks I was unable to get a proper night’s sleep. I wasn’t supposed to be shooting the gun that day because Mr Allan was out of town and I had no proper supervision. I never told anyone.
There. That’s certainly a start. Five things that I’ve never told anyone before and, if I have my way, will take to the grave. I could quite easily reach a list of ten or more but, for now, I think this will have to do. It was hard enough admitting, even in writing, to such events and opinions. I don’t think I’m capable of any more right now.
In fact, I’m quite tempted to just burn this whole flipping entry right about now.
15 February 1984
I don’t know why I am writing this. Perhaps it is to finally voice these secrets out in the open. Or, at least, as open as my journal ever shall be. I wish I could tell someone. I’ve never quite been one to keep secrets unless it was of the most absolute importance. Like UNIT, for example. Or the Doctor. But my life, I find, has always been rather akin to an open book. It took me years to learn not to wear emotion on my sleeve, after all.
This isn’t easy to write, though. I don’t know why I ever imagined it to be. I must have been daft, thinking I could – oh, bloody hell, Sarah Jane! Just write.
I underwent therapy when I was thirteen not only due to Andrea’s death but because, at that point, I couldn’t understand why I was still alive. It was a rather bad case of depression. My parents had died; Andrea was lost right in front of my own eyes… If you had asked me then, I would have told you that there was no point to life. But these events and the help I then received from Aunt Lavinia and Doctor Mack changed my life. Life is worth living, if just for the fact that you’re alive.
I miss him. I know it’s probably quite obvious, but there only is one person I ever would admit this thought to and I will never see him again. Even though he said he would come back to me, it’s been over a year. He never will. And I, well, I love him. He is the only man I ever will love. I know that it is absolutely foolish and unrequited, but I do not care.
I have considered, time after time, having a family. It is not a top prerogative of mine, and certainly not something I will waste time longing after, especially considering that the man I love most will ever return. But when I see other women with their children, especially women holding their daughters, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if it were me. I’d love to have a daughter of my own to raise. It will never happen.
I happen to have a secret love of romance novels. I know that they are silly and simple, but they can be so very entertaining. Still, I think too highly of myself to ever be able to admit to this like.
When I was learning to shoot, I accidentally shot Mrs Henderson’s cat. I will never be able to forget the yowl of pain the animal let out. It frightened me so horribly that for weeks I was unable to get a proper night’s sleep. I wasn’t supposed to be shooting the gun that day because Mr Allan was out of town and I had no proper supervision. I never told anyone.
There. That’s certainly a start. Five things that I’ve never told anyone before and, if I have my way, will take to the grave. I could quite easily reach a list of ten or more but, for now, I think this will have to do. It was hard enough admitting, even in writing, to such events and opinions. I don’t think I’m capable of any more right now.
In fact, I’m quite tempted to just burn this whole flipping entry right about now.