October 22, 2002 | 9:30 AM

Although I said I wouldn�t discuss this, I wanted to respond in a round about way to some of the guestbook messages I�ve received over the past day or so. Don�t worry�there is no bashing of anyone else in this entry. At the end of today, this diary will be locked. If you know me personally and would still like to continue reading it, I will be more than happy to give you a password if you email me. I am of course still going to follow my own �No discussing anyone I know� rule from now on.

When I first started writing this diary, I never expected anyone to read it. My ex-boyfriend had his own diary, and I started mine. But neither of us read the other�s. I guess some of his friends were reading my diary but I didn�t know that until much much later when they contacted me. It was nice and refreshing to have this space to just be completely and totally open about everything. To show both the best and the worst of myself in a spontaneous way.

I�d always kept journals. I have literally forty or fifty notebooks in my desk drawres documenting my life from the age of like, thirteen. And keeping a journal was always a profound and illuminating experience for me. But it was also an intensely lonely one�like making a long distance call to no one. The journal was always about my relationship with myself and I liked the idea that my words could travel through space and time and be read by someone else. I liked the idea of being that open and bare in public�but not really in public, because I didn�t think anyone I ever knew would read any of it. That might be naive, but it�s where I was coming from at the time.

Then my ex and I being curious about what the other person was writing, decided to open up our journals to each other, and to link them. I thought this would be enlightening as well. And perhaps promote some understanding and communication between us, which was at this point (and which was not one person�s fault over the other) pretty lacking. As much of what I was thinking and feeling at that point had to do with my relationship with my ex, much of my diary was devoted to sorting that through�just as it had been before he began reading it. There were diatribes and nasty letters (I have always written letters in my journals. I sometime make copies of letters I send and paste them in my journal simply because it was part of a record of what was going on at the time.) as well as loving asides. And I really didn�t consider in any way how any of these comments might affect him. It just didn�t occur to me. A lot of the reason for that was that he didn�t ever comment on anything I wrote, or would only do so in a vague manner. And thus, not being as insightful as I would often like to believe myself to be, I just assumed he simply didn�t care.

I wrote a story about my life in Boston�a sixty-something part story from my point of view. I always knew that it was simply the world according to me-�that it was completely subjective. I enjoyed writing it. People started emailing me and guestbook messaging me and telling me that they loved what I was doing blah blah blah. It felt really nice to have that kind of validation, especially since the period of time I was describing was one in which I felt terribly alone.

But then something really unexpected happened. Without in anyway meaning to, I wound up creating a propaganda campaign against someone else whom I really really love, respect, admire and adore. As a result of working out conflicting feelings in public I turned someone else into a villain. And to be brutally honest, subconsciously that may have been my way at getting back at this person. I don�t want to believe that of myself. It certainly wasn�t conscious. But I think there is certainly an element of truth to it.

And then people I actually knew in real life found my diary. Which turned out to wonderful because I wound up reconnecting with these amazing friendships. But it further complicated things because now everyone was privy to a lot of personal information about someone else who had never decided to make that information public. When I put myself in the shoes of this person and can see the situation from his point of view, I know the amazing sense of hurt and betrayal he must have felt.

All of this of course came to a head a couple days ago when I quite stupidly and sanctimoniously published some things on this site which were terribly hurtful, and which I have since deleted. This person finally responded to these �attacks� and I am so glad that he did. I have learned more about myself in the past fourty-eight hours than I have in a long time. And I am truly grateful for that information. I only wish I could have learned these things without causing someone else so much unhappiness and hurt. I truly mean it that for the rest of my life I will regret having been the catalyst for someone so kind and wonderful�s misery. If there was anything I could do to take that away, I would.

It is not that I am sorry to have written anything I ever wrote. I was coming from and honest place. It was purely subjective, as is all journal writing, but it was honest. I am not discounting my own words, thoughts, or feelings. I am not saying that the saga was untruthful�it was a truthful representation of how I saw my own world. Were there omissions? Would someone else have had a different take on the same events? Of course. Our own perception is merely that. I learned an enormous amount about myself through writing the saga and through writing many other things I�ve written here. What I am sorry about is that I posted any of it on this site. Because in so doing I put other people in a bad and compromised position. My words became gospel to many people reading this and because of this other person�s enormous integrity and unwillingness to violate the privacy of others, he kept silent on the entire matter. So I wound up badmouthing someone, kicking him over and over again in the gut and there was no recourse for him except to just take it.

This all raises some very interesting philosophical questions about the nature of privacy. If someone writes a song directed at someone else (i.e. John Lennon�s hate letter to Paul McCartney �How Do You Sleep�) or writes a novel or play where the characters are thinly disgused literary versions of actual people the writer knows in real life (i.e. �After The Fall� by Aurthur Miller) is that an invasion of privacy? I�m not being defensive, I am just asking. Phillip Roth and Norman Mailer do it all the time. All of the beats did. Maybe the difference is that the characters they created were already recognizable as famous people�they were people who had already chosen the limelight.

I think what I did, to be perfectly honest was write a trashy tell all book�i.e. Kity Kelly or people that write mean things about the Kennedys. I never meant to do that. And that makes me feel really ill.

This diary was an experiment in me holding up to the light everything that I am in any given moment, theatricalizing and pushing myself to be as naked as possible. But the problem is, diaryland�just like the workplace or a visit to your aunt�s house is a societal construct where there are rules and etiquette, mostly built on the respect and concern for others. I was too selfish to see that. And thus, though illuminating in many respects, this experiment has failed. And is now coming to an end.

Anyway, I am password protecting this at the end of today. If you want the password, please email me and depending on many things I may or may not give it to you. If I don�t, please don�t take it personally. I just feel the need to not have my words�however innocuous they most likely will be�read by very many people for quite some time. Again, don�t expect to be reading anything salacious in here anymore. I�ll keep that for the diary I have next to my bed, the one I stick in a drawer and which no one else reads.

This entire experience has been very revealing, thought provoking, difficult, painful, and strange. I appreciate you embarking on it with me and I sincerely wish you all the best of luck.

Adios.

--Anna