It wasn't until a few years ago that journaling finally stuck. I've tried for so many years to start a journal but notebook, after spiral, after notepad, it never worked. I could never keep up with a notebook.
At first, my journal was a way of recording memories I never wanted to forget, for better or for worst. They were moments I wanted to capture in great detail, and sometimes they were emotions. At the time, the journal was more like a diary. My only motivation was to use my journal as a second memory, for when my first one failed me. Now, however, it serves a new purpose. I sit down, open the leather bound pages and unload my jumbled emotions. Opening the notebook is equivalent to unleashing the floodgate. Emotions pour, and often so do tears. It's overwhelming, emotional, but eye-opening. I pick up my pen, and write myself to reason. The process is simple. I write, write down the facts, write what I know, and along the way slowly write down reason. I decipher my thoughts, decipher what I really want and by the end of the page, or maybe four pages later, I've reached a conclusion. I know what I need to do, what I want. In quick motions I sign my name and I close the notebook with a newfound strength and resolution. ____ This post doesn't make any sense. That's alright.
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June 2020
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