I’ve kept a journal since at least 2nd grade. My composition books are about my day to day life, and at least 5 are missing from this collection. I have another 10ish notebooks full of short stories and poems, and another 3 that are directly related to therapy and self injury recovery, which are not pictured. I’m proud of how well I’ve documented my life. Reading through my journals makes me feel anywhere from sad (in third grade I’m writing about how I’m thankful my grandma died finally from stomach cancer so she wasn’t in pain anymore) to amused (like the time a guest came over and obliterated the dining room chair just by sitting on it). So many memories. I hope I can fill many more. <3
Now I need to start scanning in my journals and putting them on a USB drive so they’re not lost forever in a fire or something. D:
And as we sat there listening to the carolers,
I wanted to tell Brian it was over now and everything would be okay.
But that was a lie, plus, I couldn't speak anyway.
I wish there was some way for us to go back and undo the past.
But there wasn't.
There was nothing we could do.
So I just stayed silent and trying to telepathically communicate...
how sorry I was about what had happened.
And I thought of all the grief and sadness...
and fucked up suffering in the world...
and it made me want to escape.
I wished with all my heart that we could just...
Ieave this world behind.
Rise like two angels in the night and magically...