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December 1st, 2016
Entry 1
It's been a few years since I've sat down at a desk and scrawled my thoughts on paper. I know why. There are so many reasons, I wouldn't know where to start. But I'll try, maybe it'll help put my thoughts in order for once.
☻Having my thoughts on paper makes them real. Makes them vulnerable, and makes me worry about them being found. I like my thoughts where they are, in my head. Where no one can know them. Can't judge them.
☻Writing my thoughts on paper means reliving things I'd sooner forget. Numb it, forget it. Move on. But for them to be here? In this simple notebook? It's like watching a car accident on repeat. Or those song loops on Youtube. You know, the ones that I'm relatively sure they find the worst song to exist and make a ten hour loop to drive someone insane.
☻Finding the time. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I work or do anything productive with my life. I don't need to. I have the money to drink and shoot it away without worrying about the after effect in the morning. I've never had to worry about making it to work on time or fighting a hangover during a shift. Sounds perfect, right? Wrong. But that being said, it's finding the time between the ups and downs to collect my thoughts or be able to hold a pen steady.
☻There's that whole... Diary feel to it. Like I'm a high school girl dreaming about the football player as I watch him from the nerd table in the caff... I'm... not going to finish that thought. See what I mean?
☻That also brings me to the next fact: with words, I'm speaking to an inanimate object. Bringing me back to square one with the same problem I've been having for years. The therapist has no clue what they're talking about. They tell you to write your thoughts in a journal, but for what? What comes out of all this? What could possibly make me feel better about feeling as if there's no one left for me to talk to other than the pages of a flimsy notebook? Every therapist my parents bought for me told me to write one. It only made me think they didn't want anything to do with me either. Is it a therapist's default? To tell their patient to write their thoughts in a journal, so they didn't have to hear them? Is it a solution or is it simply a coping mechanism? I have those. Plenty of those. Some work better than others.
But at this point, I have nothing left. I haven't spoken to Tessa in months. I only wander my stupefied ass home when I'm certain my parents are out of town.
Avoid. Isolation. Alone. Fear. Numb. Intoxication. Haunted. Torn. Drowning. Wallowing. Dwelling.
All words I could describe and define myself with in keen detail.
Which leads me to my final reason. Everything written on this page makes me sound like a mopey rich prick.
Perhaps it would be best to write these thoughts here. Then no one would have to hear me whine. I guess there is a silver lining about this diary business after all.
http://prodimage.images-bn.com/pimages/9781591222613_p4_v7_s550x406.jpg
December 1st, 2016
Entry 1
It's been a few years since I've sat down at a desk and scrawled my thoughts on paper. I know why. There are so many reasons, I wouldn't know where to start. But I'll try, maybe it'll help put my thoughts in order for once.
☻Having my thoughts on paper makes them real. Makes them vulnerable, and makes me worry about them being found. I like my thoughts where they are, in my head. Where no one can know them. Can't judge them.
☻Writing my thoughts on paper means reliving things I'd sooner forget. Numb it, forget it. Move on. But for them to be here? In this simple notebook? It's like watching a car accident on repeat. Or those song loops on Youtube. You know, the ones that I'm relatively sure they find the worst song to exist and make a ten hour loop to drive someone insane.
☻Finding the time. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I work or do anything productive with my life. I don't need to. I have the money to drink and shoot it away without worrying about the after effect in the morning. I've never had to worry about making it to work on time or fighting a hangover during a shift. Sounds perfect, right? Wrong. But that being said, it's finding the time between the ups and downs to collect my thoughts or be able to hold a pen steady.
☻There's that whole... Diary feel to it. Like I'm a high school girl dreaming about the football player as I watch him from the nerd table in the caff... I'm... not going to finish that thought. See what I mean?
☻That also brings me to the next fact: with words, I'm speaking to an inanimate object. Bringing me back to square one with the same problem I've been having for years. The therapist has no clue what they're talking about. They tell you to write your thoughts in a journal, but for what? What comes out of all this? What could possibly make me feel better about feeling as if there's no one left for me to talk to other than the pages of a flimsy notebook? Every therapist my parents bought for me told me to write one. It only made me think they didn't want anything to do with me either. Is it a therapist's default? To tell their patient to write their thoughts in a journal, so they didn't have to hear them? Is it a solution or is it simply a coping mechanism? I have those. Plenty of those. Some work better than others.
But at this point, I have nothing left. I haven't spoken to Tessa in months. I only wander my stupefied ass home when I'm certain my parents are out of town.
Avoid. Isolation. Alone. Fear. Numb. Intoxication. Haunted. Torn. Drowning. Wallowing. Dwelling.
All words I could describe and define myself with in keen detail.
Which leads me to my final reason. Everything written on this page makes me sound like a mopey rich prick.
Perhaps it would be best to write these thoughts here. Then no one would have to hear me whine. I guess there is a silver lining about this diary business after all.