Starting a journal is about the hardest thing. I’ve tried, several times. Maybe I’m just too critical of myself. I’d hate to appear in certain way at any given point; bad, proud, eccentric, too grounded, or simply irrational at times. I’ve tried several times, just to write down my thoughts. But mostly, my emotions surface when I write. When writing about inanimate things, it doesn’t matter. But when I go off on a rant about something that happened, and how I feel, I feel anxious that someone might find out. It seems so irrational, but it’s just how I am. I’m almost to the point of paranoid. So, as with all of the other ones, I will rip each page out, one by one, scrunch it up, and then burn it. If I can’t burn it, I’ll rip it into the smallest pieces I can and recycle it. When I was younger I kept a journal and wrote in it religiously. I found it a year or two ago and decided to keep it as a memory. For the fun of it, I harmlessly flipped through it. When I got done, I ripped every page out and put them through a shredder. I sounded so self-absorbed in it, and I understand I was a child, and to a child, what else is there? Hated every word I wrote in it. Or it made me cry, and slightly sentimental. I forgot all about the things I did and it took me back. I think that’s why I ripped it out and shredded the pages, and then burned it. I think it was because of the time frame. I know I was little, but it took me to one of the darkest parts of my past, and frankly, one I hate to think about. That’s why I burn them, because the only time I write, it’s only of the worst parts of my past, the ones that I want to keep submerged in my past. It tears me to pieces every time it drifts back to the surface and takes me back. Come to think of it, the ‘appear to be critical” is the cop out I tell myself. Frankly, it’s my past, and of memories. That’s why I can no longer write a journal, of fear of being taken back. It’s the reason I put my heart and soul into everything, and why I usually end up with failure that knocks me down, but the fear of my past also is the force that makes me stand back up. I think the reason I’m afraid of failure and try to dream too big is to make my past something to look back on, to be proud of, to be able to say to myself, “look back, and see everything you’ve done.” And maybe one day, I’ll be proud of myself.
I know it sounds crazy and kinda weird I guess, and laughably insignificant to most, but this is it. This is part of who I am and is one of the working functions of my inner mind and kinda explains why I do what I do. Yet some how a blog doesn’t seem the same to me. Maybe because it’s not about me, it’s about my world and how I view it.