I know for an absolute fact
that my parents used to read my diary. They'd comment about things to me that I'd not told them, that I'd only written down under the duvet at night with a torch in my mouth, and after a little while I got quite fed up with apparently having no privacy, I decided (I was about 17 at this point and while it was mainly "XYZ is a total bitch because this happened today", the usual teen angst stuff) I was going to write it in French, because I figured it would help me revise for the A-level, and also because no one but me would understand it. And this worked beautifully except that I got utterly fed up of having to look up what I was feeling, so I gave up. I read back over it while I was at home over Christmas and luckily my French has improved along with my quality of life.

Before that I had a Diaryland page (yes, that's right, I was blogging before it was cool) to which I stupidly gave the address to a couple of people from school. So I had to password it. Various people bastards claimed to have haxx0red it and sadly I was nowhere near as computer-savvy as I am now, so every day I was surprised when I came in that there wasn't a few dozen pages pinned to the noticeboards (these would have been more like "XYZ is a total utter bitch because she did this to me today angst angst angst" - all a bit Vicky Pollard really.) I deleted it finally in sixth form and set up again somewhere else some months later without telling anyone.

More recently someone I know rather stupidly left an MSN window open saying I was "irritating" them and continued to type in it about me while I was all of two feet away. Clever.
( Maladicta, Thu 1 Feb 2007, 16:29, Reply)