Why Re-live What You Want to Forget?

I set aside a small note book to write in. I knew exactly what I was going to write in it too. I also knew that there was no way in hell this thing was going to be big enough for me to tell the whole story and that I would eventually have to continue on to another note book for me to even have a chance of finishing it. I got all psyched up to do it, I even started a little. I wrote the intro to the story. It was even going to be in an interesting style. It was going to be written to myself, almost as if I was having conversations in the book to me. Yet, it was meant to be read by someone... someday. I was so sure I wanted to write it, but I didn't. I was going to write about everything that has happened to me since either the beginning of last summer or the end of it. I was leaning more towards the end of it, that's when it all started. That was when the best things became the worst things, the mediocre things became the invisible things, and the worst things became the familiar things. I didn't have much to fall back on then, family, loyal friends that I somehow made in the short time I had after leaving the grasp of my warden of seven months. You would think the family would be a big help, but sometimes they just made it worse. I was going to tell that story in the little note book I had set aside. I don't want to anymore. Why re-live something you would rather forget? Why remember something you would rather forgive? It's one of the saddest stories I know. Probably, mostly because it was mine. It is always easy to believe you have it worse off than anyone else. Now I would rather take that space and write down a happy story. I thought of it this summer when the peak of my happiness first started. I've told it to a few people and they've all said it was an incredible story. It's one of the happiest stories I know, and yet the main character still dies. He spends a good deal of his life slowly suffering for his gift only to receive even greater suffering. I'd rather tell a happy story than a sad one, but I'm not much of a writer so I don't know where to start. I've written down some of the important events and I think I know how I want it to be told. I'm a little surprised at how much of the story reflects my life. I'm even more surprised that when I came up with the story I not only used parts of my past, but somehow, in a way I closely predicted my future. The same future I'm living right now. During one of the happiest parts of my life, I was able to predict one of the worst, and yet I never saw it coming. It boggles the mind.

Here is part of the introduction that I started to write when I was going to write about what has happened to me:

I can remember the last day I was happy. I mean really happy, when there was no need to pretend. It was a September the 18th, 2007. It was a tuesday. That was four months, two weeks, and four days ago (I updated that number for this blog because it is still true).
(then I go on to tell the story)
It's not happy, not anymore, not yet. (that's where I stopped, I didn't get far and I'm glad of that. I think I'll keep that line though, It will fit well with my happy story, I know just where to put it.