Closure (The silly secretarial kind, not the real profound kind)

I closed my first journal today.
I wrote an afterword, and am going to let it sit until I decide whether to burn it or not.
This means something to me, which is why I'll need some time to think about it.
Background:
This journal was given to me at some point early in elementary school, and remained mostly blank (save for crayoning in the front title page) until the seventh grade, when I started writing after a tad of angst caught up with me, and I figured out what it was: sexual frustration. Now, this is the kind of frustration that, now in my college years, is both much tamer, and also, in healthy circumstances, easily corrected. But at that point in time, my social understanding of it was nil. So, I wrote. It wasn't the greatest stuff, but the stream-of-consciousness entries (which survive to this day in journal 2, my little black book) are very eye-opening as to what my thought processes were. I never voluntarily opened this book to anyone. Which is why I am strongly considering burning it.
But, there is a caveat.
I have two considerations in making this caveat. One, there is an entire large chunk of time, between halfway through junior year and leading up to college, that is entirely unjournaled. It was, actually, in livejournal, but that is deleted. That was a symbolic effort saying all that happened in the time that the account was active is not worth my energy reminiscing about.
In the case of the livejournal, it was too easy. Bound materials are harder to destroy, and this blog shows that bound material also unleashes things that can never really be put out there. In my writing, I name names, I say things outright that here I'd spin into innuendo, which, in my attempt to nudge nudge everyone, says way more than I intend it to. Sometimes even the wrong message. This blog is meant for the innocuous things that I need to write about, like being infatuated with a car or playing D&D or seeing a huge turkey, or any of the things I want to tell everyone who will listen. The book is for private time, where no one should really know. I said earlier in this blog that a person who would see the things in my journal would be someone on the level of having sex with me. The one person who has done that actually hasn't seen the book. The one person that has seen it was Patrick, and he didn't really "see" anything, I think I paraphrased a line for him in a conversation we had. It really is that personal. Except for that one entry where I wrote the story about the clicheed secret agent during CIT seminar. Andrew may have seen that because we were both bored and it didn't really matter...anyhoo. Back to my point.
I filled up a lot of my black book freshman year. I intend to keep it until it really is full, buy another one, and continue in that way through college. And these I'll probably keep. My black book already documents more positive things than the other two combined, and reading through it makes me reminscent and nostalgic, not embarassed and angry.
If I burn my first, it'll say very clearly that I'm giving up on looking back at high school. In reality, I am. I need no more reminders that I was unhappy, no more indications that I was living in a fucking bubble. When I read back in the black book, I see college, I see it in all its overwhelming and crazy glory.
My mind has been made up. I'll figure out how, but this weekend, I'll do it.
I'm fucking done with looking backwards.