When I was 18 a friend bought me a journal for Christmas. I didn't really know what to do with it. Journal in it I guess. I wasn't a journaller. I didn't keep a diary, outside a few school assignments when I was 13 and 16, but I had to hand those in to my teacher. So, I started writing in my journal. I wasn't really sure what to write about. Stuff, I suppose.
It started out mostly about the daily events happening in my life. That got boring. Eventually I started writing my thoughts about those events. I started writing about what things meant and why I thought people did or said the things I wrote about. And then I started writing about my thoughts, separate from the events in my life. And almost daily I wrote in my journal. I became obsessive. Sometimes I would write 5 or more entries a day. Even if I went away on vacation I would bring it along. I would rarely go for longer than a week without writing in it, and that was only if I was physically separated from my journal. I documented everything. If something happened in my life that I wanted to share, I didn't share it with my family or friends. I wrote it in my journal. It almost became like a confident to me.
I haven't written in my journal for over a month now. I've been busy, but that's never stopped me before.
I wonder what this means.
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