sunday, january 2, 1944
dearest kitty,
this m, when i had nothing to do, i leafed through the pages of my diary and
came across so maers dealing with the subjeother" in such strong terms that i was shocked. i said to myself, "anne, is that really you talking about hate? oh, anne, how could you?”
i tio sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why i was filled with so muger and hate that i had to fide it all to you. i tried to uand the anne of last year and make apologies for her, because as long as i leave you with these accusations and dont attempt to explain rompted them, my sce wont be clear. i was suffering then (and still do) from moods that kept my head under water (figuratively speaking) and allowed me to see things only from my own perspective, without calmly sidering what the others -- those whom i, with my mercurial temperament, had hurt or offended -- had said, and then ag as they would have done.
i hid inside myself, thought of no o myself and calmly wrote down all my joy, sarcasm and sorrow in my diary. because this diary has bee a kind of memory book, it means a great deal to me, but i could easily write "over and doh" on many of its pages.
i was furious at mother (and still am a lot of the time). its true, she didnt uand me, but i didnt uand her either. because she loved me, she was tender and affeate, but because of the difficult situations i put her in, and the sad circumstances in which she found herself, she was nervous and irritable, so i uand why she was often short with me.
i was offeook it far too much to heart and was i aly to her, which, in turn, made her unhappy. we were caught in a vicious circle of unpleasantness and sorrow. not a very happy period for either of us, but at least its ing to an end. i didnt want to see what was going on, and i felt very sorry for myself, but thats uandable too.
those violent outbursts on paper are simply expressions of ahat, in normal life, i could have worked off by log myself in my room and stamping my foot a few times or calling mother names behind her back.
the period of tearfully passing judgment on mother is over. ive grown wiser and mothers nerves are a bit steadier. most of the time i mao hold my tongue when im annoyed, and she does too; so on the surface, we seem to be getting aloer. but theres ohing i t do, and thats to love mother with the devotion of a child.
i soothe my sce with the thought that its better for unkind
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