I used to keep a diary. I know I had at least two over the course of my life. When I was about six or seven, I wrote about my playground experiences. Maybe a few entries about my pets. I can’t forget about my favorite toys. You know, pretty serious stuff.
After I turned twelve, I had another one. I’d write about my friends, elementary crushes, among other things. I didn’t really write in a journal to express my feelings. If anything, it was just to keep my boredom at bay.
Last night, I was feeling pretty low. I was angry, depressed, crying, and on the verge of the first panic attack I’d had in a few weeks. I bet it was midnight before I actually got to sleep.
I was trying to quit smoking all day yesterday, (again) so my nerves were already bad. I did not manage to do it, by the way, but I did slack up. Yay?
Anyway, I took one look at Dillon and it crashed down on me like a collapsed building: What if he stopped loving me?
It took a few minutes before I realized where that question came from. To anyone else, he acts the same he always has, but to me, I feel like he looks at me differently.
It may just be my imagination, but it broke my heart, thinking about it. I felt like I couldn’t take anymore, so I went outside for a smoke. While outside, I started thinking. I thought, “It’s me. I know it’s my fault. If he asks for a divorce, I’ll know it’s me.” What could I do? I thought about just asking him, but I always ask him if he still loves me. I always get the same answer: “Of course, I do.”
I decided against asking for the thousandth time. My heart was broken as I sat on the back porch. My marriage was falling apart and it was all my fault. I thought about giving up and just going to bed with my eyes full of tears, but I figured I had better do something about my thoughts. Finally, I remembered what everybody keeps telling me to do: Write in a journal.
People would tell me this or I would see it online and I would brush it off. I knew it would be good for me, but I didn’t think it would help that much. But, I thought about it some more, though. I figured, “Why the heck not? If it’s helping everyone else, maybe it’ll help me, too. I’m getting desperate.”
So, I downloaded a journal app on my phone. It was easier. Plus, if I used a notebook, my children would surely find it and write things for me, so I saved them the trouble.
At first, I didn’t know what exactly to write. I mean, it’s been years since I wrote in a journal. What do I do, write about my day? Instead of that, I started typing about how I was feeling. First, I just wrote about what made me upset, yesterday. It was magic. It was like my fingers just typed by themselves. I felt my emotions swirling around my head and down my arm, into words. As I was typing, I felt my mind become a little less clouded.
I cried, I smiled, I felt angry. The bottle was uncorked, and its contents were spilling out, forcefully. I sat on the couch for an hour, just letting go of years worth of pent up feelings. It felt great. The Flash didn’t have anything on how fast I was creating sentences, but I couldn’t stop. Once the flood gates were open, the flood wouldn’t stop. It was so much coming out. There was so much to say.
After I finally wrapped it up, I looked at my very long journal entry in awe. The world had lifted off my shoulder, and I was finally tired. I could breathe. For a brief moment, I even felt like I could take on anything.
No kidding, I had to sit for a few minutes just to process what had happened.
I never thought writing in a journal would help me so much. After just one entry, I felt relieved. I definitely slept better.
So, I learned something new. I learned to express my emotions in an entry. It would probably save my heart and keep it together a little longer.
Thank you, to everyone who ever told me to start a journal! And I’m sorry I didn’t start, sooner!