What 14 years of journaling have taught me about myself

I have journaled consistently for 14 years; starting 2009 when the weight of my internal thoughts started to overwhelm me.

At first, it was majorly teaming with the unbridled passion and naiveté of adolescence. I wrote about a boy I liked, I described the silence of afternoons at our house, I poured out my dreams, hopes and angst. Most of it centered around going away and finding a place to live by myself.

I craved deep friendships and I had them. So I wrote about them too. I thought 25 was the oldest age that a person could be young. It all seemed so far away. I still pretended that I cared about law even when I cannot stand arguments for arguments’ sake. I knew not even too deep inside my heart that I did not want at all to be a lawyer. I devoted my thought life to fantasies and gave them life in my journals.I also had this part where I wrote down a list of all my friends and relatives that I knew I would give my kidney to without thinking, if they ever needed one.

Now I have neither said relatives nor most of those friends. My kidney and I will not part after all. So, what have 14 years of journaling taught me? That I have a core- my spiritual entity- that has not changed much. All that time has done has been to reveal its many layers. That journaling is the one thing I have done most consistently my entire life. That maybe I have the appearance of a perpetual joy because in my journals is where I weep first and foremost. I absolutely need to have a pen and a notebook everywhere I go. My journal entries are my prayers. They are also prophecies- and fantasies.

I carry my journals everywhere I go to live.

I am too far in it to stop now. I am a sculptor, sculpting away at moments and time, using the material of words, to bring my inner world and identity into life. It is a most sacred endeavour- this journaling.

Regards,

Anna Grace