Tag Archives: journal

Excerpt From A Journal Entry: July 29th, 2012

I wrote the last entry of my 4th journal the other day.

…I flipped through pages of this journal a few times in the past couple days. There have been some very unhappy passages that I can remember so well just by reading. Lately, I’ve been wondering, why do I keep a journal? I have since I was 15. Is it just tradition? Because sometimes I won’t write in this journal for months, so it isn’t a routine. So, why do I do it? Why did I purchase a new journal after seeing only four pages left in this one?
I know that I am a writer. I keep a writing blog, a Tumblr… many outlets for expression and creativity. But these are outlets others can read– a huge difference in comparison to this writing/journaling outlet. So why do I do it? For myself? To organize my thoughts? So that my future self can look at the past? I always have my memories, but by writing them down I am logging them as well as the feelings associated. I guess I do it for several reasons:

1: To look back at my feelings and thoughts in a particular situation.
2: A private, creative outlet.
3: Out of habit/ I’ve never been without a journal.
4: Writing to/for myself.

I write to myself when I write here. Though it feels like I am writing to someone else– a reader– the reader is me. But sometimes, we do things that do not have reasons. We can do things that do not always need explanations for why we do them. Jonathan Safran Foer said, “I write because I want to end my loneliness.” Journal writing seems to be a huge comfort for me as well. I associate it with hard times– times when I had to write to escape the feeling of being alone. And though I now love alone time, I still love to escape the world best by entering into my own thoughts by way of pen and paper. By writing here, I am able to now be alone.  And though sometimes I write during my weakest moments, that escape from the world is helpful on so many different levels. (Even though at the time, it is excruciatingly painful to be alone.)
And so, I guess I write to embrace aloneness and escape the constant association of being alone with being lonely. I write because, as Graham Greene says, “Writing is a form of therapy.” And every now and again, I need therapy of my own; the kind without a therapist.

Guilt Coinciding Loss

From February 16th, 2012. It took me a while to post this.
I should be working on a paper that is due tomorrow for a class but I feel the need to write about the past couple days and what I’ve been going through.
Seeing my counsellor yesterday gave me a better understanding of what exactly is happening with me, how it isn’t over yet, and the effect it has on me in everything I do. Everything. Even simple things that may seem easy. From eating, to sleeping, to socializing, to working, to reading, to studying, and even writing. The amount of pain from loss in my life is putting me into a sinking state of depression. I am not myself some days. I haven’t been for quite some time and I think admitting that yesterday felt huge. And as my roommate tells me, admitting to myself that I want to be happy and that I don’t want to be sad is also huge. But these are all steps to this process of grieving and getting over the fact that my dad and my mom will not be at my graduation. They will not be at my wedding. They will not be there if I have a child. They will not be there when I go out into the unknown. This is what has been killing me, albeit slowly, for quite a while. Loss. You can feel loss in many different ways. It could be losing something, giving something up, a piece of you, an art form, an animal, a job. In this sense, I feel as though a lot of people can relate to me on different levels. Some have lost even more than I have. Some have lost less. The point is, we have lived and we have lost something. Maybe not together, but we probably feel a lot of the same feelings and emotions. (Which could be the reason behind why I tend to write about it.)

And so last week, when I was faced with problem after problem, it wasn’t the direct problems that made me depressed. It was the inability to talk to who I wanted to talk to about the problems. And it was even more than that. Even deeper that that. I get so incredibly sad, so upset that I slam my feet into the floor and beat down until I can’t feel anymore. And I told my counsellor about this and she told me that instead of beating myself up literally and physically and emotionally over this sadness, I must just feel the sadness. I must let it out. And then I must love myself, and have compassion towards myself.

“But I don’t. I don’t feel compassion. I feel badly towards myself. I feel guilty. I feel like I shouldn’t feel this way. I feel that I should be over it by now.” And she said to me, “Why? Why shouldn’t you feel this way?”

I left the session a little lighter, but a little heavier from all the information that started to sink deep into my heart and soul. Though I feel that I am in repair, I feel that one day I will get out of this alive. And though I don’t want to live now, and don’t care if I wake up tomorrow or not, one day I will thank myself for living, and thank myself for not giving up. These things are hard to remember, when I am screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to kill me or save me or do something. But I will remember them when it is quiet inside. When it is okay to let the light back in.