Attempting to journal....

Okay, so I have this obsession with journals.  Seriously, like I love them and always buy them.  All kinds of them, doesn't matter.  Cheap, expensive, tiny, big, thick, thin.  Doesn't matter.  And I always have the best intentions for these journals.  I always swear that THIS will be the journal that will snap me out of my phobia of writing in them and make me all better.  But no.  Never does.  In the pile they go.  And they sit and collect dust like the others.  Above is a pile of six of them that I picked from just one shelf in my bedroom.  I probably have oh, at least 30 to 50 all together if I looked through all of my drawers, boxes, shelves, etc. Over the years, I've given some up to the kids  and whatnot, but mainly, I just hang on to them.  Knowing eventually that I want to start writing in them.

What's the problem, you ask?  Well, that all stems back to the evil one.  Many years ago, in a marriage far-far away, I used to write some things down.  Problems that we were having.  Truth of what was happening in our lives.  My dreams for getting out and away.  True things of what he would say to me and do to me.  Real dreams for my future.  No matter where I would hide them, he would inevitably find them and I would inevitably beat me bloody for all of the "lies (truth)" that was written and beat me because I had the nerve to dream about a life without him... that must mean I'm a no good whore, which deserved another beating.  And what if someone ELSE would have found these things instead of HIM?  That would have gotten him in so much trouble because they would have read my nonsense so that would be a betrayal of loyalty which deserved another beating.  I quickly learned that in this life it is simply not safe to write things down.  You do not write things down.  Not if you want to remain safe.  Never write them down.   And even though I've come so far since then, I'm still a bit haunted by that part.  I can type until my fingers fall off.  And I can buy journal after journal,.... but they all stay completely empty inside because I can't bring myself to write a word inside of any of them. I pick them up and run my hands of them and hold them.  But I'm at a loss as to what to write in them.  So they just sit empty.

 

So recently at the bookstore (while looking at more journals, ironically enough!),

 I came  across this blue journal pictured below and found it kind of interesting.

You only have to write a sentence or two every day and that's it.

Well, I could probably do that.

That takes a lot of pressure off!

And it has a spot for the same date for five years in a row.

That's kind of neat.

Maybe if I can work on just writing a line or two for a while,

this may go a while to cure me a bit.

I may actually get some use out of these journals!

So, I'm quite excited about this endeavor and we'll see how it goes.

Wish me luck!

lurve you, xoxo v.