I began journaling when I was in high school after watching an episode of “The Carrie Diaries on Netflix”. I had journaled a few times before in elementary school and middle school, but just to say which boys in my class I thought were cute. When I picked up journaling as a more daily activity, I didn’t realize it would be what pushed me to where I am now.
Journaling through keeping my head on straight after a death of a close friend of mine to suicide when I was sixteen. I found it difficult to talk to the people around me, even the ones who had lost him as well. I spent long nights writing letters to him that I stuck in a mason jar. The jar now sits on my altar beside my bed as a reminder of the things I had overcome.
Journaling helped me through a trashy first boyfriend who verbally abused me and threatened me, using his power to hold me captive in his life. During this time, I lost my closest girl friends as they struggled to relate to how hard it was for me to leave this boy. I lost my parents’ support and found my nights to be filled with arguments that shook the house. I would hide in my room journaling about how much I loved this boy, but how hard it was for me to be with him. I didn’t know who was right or if I was really going to end up with his blood on my hands if I were to walk away from our relationship. In the end, I found the strength to walk away. It ended with a terrible break-up, and I found my year to be full of journaling in anger and loneliness as no one around me seemed to appreciate how difficult it was for me to leave him. No one seemed to realize how alone I was now that I didn’t have anyone close to me to talk to.
When my final year of high school came and the fear of college the next year, my journal helped to organize my thoughts and realize who I wanted to become. I wrote lists on what I was good at and what I was interested in. I took notes on how I performed in class and outside of school. I wrote about what my teachers thought about me. I wrote about what my friends always seemed to say. In the end, I declared myself a Journalism major and applied for the university in my city.
My freshman year found all sorts of new problems such as being in a new place and realizing that college isn’t as easy as high school. Being the bottom of the food chain where no one knew my name. Boys calling from all directions just to leave me alone in bed the next morning. I found no desire in the major I had chosen and lost my desire to be in college all together. It was all collected and organized and thought out in detail within the binding of my journal. I found home in the blank pages and in the books I read. I was okay having to make my name known. I found the boy who was foolishly beside me through the countless, unmentionable boys, of freshman year- to be the love of my life. I realized there was no sense in being afraid to become an English major and following my dream to someday be an author.
Because of my journal, I have found out who I am and who I aspire to be. No one will read my writing unless I explicitly allow them, so I have no mind of holding anything back. I write poetry that I know will never be published. I write of strangers I know I will never truly meet. I write of my past that I see in my present. I write of the future that I hope to strive for. When I don’t want to forget something, I write it down. I write quotes from authors or people I find inspirational or just plain funny. I write things that I suck at and things that I find pride in. I shove post-it notes in my journal. I keep my short stories and poetry that need editing sticking out in all edges of my journal. I tear them apart and let my word stay locked away inside. It is full of horror and full of flowers. My journal was my home and my best friend when I seemed to be wandering and all alone. I believe that whether one aspires to be the next Carrie Bradshaw or Stephen King, they should consider keeping a journal. No one has to know. It is self-expression. Besides, it is always a good laugh to read though old journals.