I think I’ve always been an immensely nostalgic person since I was about 10 years old – maybe that’s my reason for my fascination with journals and photos. I wanted to document my favorite food, bands, color, and number. I introduced myself to each new journal, and listed all my favorites and talked to the journal like a friend. I apologized when I didn’t write for a few days, and was comforted by its presence. I flipped thru my entries regularly, wanting to go back in time just for a little while.
In high school, the entires became filthier and my journals had to be in hidden in the darkest corner of my closet. I was writing to get all the secrets out of my head and to remember the days of not giving a fuck about anything.
In college I wrote to understand who I was and who I want to be. I wrote to apologize for my past, and to give myself a path of who I was becoming.
Then I stopped writing. I was tired of people pushing it on me. I was tired of being told that I should make it into career. I was tired of the expectations. I truly wrote just for me, I didn’t want to be anybody. I didn’t want anyone to read my entires. It was just a way to pass the time and get my stories on paper. I never asked anyone to read my things, but then school demanded peer evaluations and grades and underlining the bad shit in red ink. I didn’t need any of that. My writing was for me.
Now I write for many of the same reasons. I write to remember. I write to understand. I write to figure life out. Mostly I write to get all of the crazy out of my head. I still read old journals, and I am so happy I have those. Mostly I write because I have no idea who I am and somehow having the words on paper makes me feel better.