Dear Diary...

[my inner-workings, in paper form]

Keeping a journal is one of those things that our society tends to make fun of- the idea seems to be that those who are actually living life don't have time to sit around and write about it. That journaling is for fifteen-year-old girls sitting around on their pink bedspreads in head gear and acne cream lamenting about how the popular boy made fun of them in the cafeteria. Or that keeping track of one's life in writing is narcissistic, or at best unnecessary.

I've been keeping a journal since my seventh birthday. I know I've probably mentioned it hear or there in passing, but I have to admit to being a tad bit, well, embarassed, of it. Shame no more.

My aunt sent me my first journal for my seventh birthday, complete with combination lock. It took my a couple of years to write through the entire thing, and many of the entries were angry ones, directed at my sister for "getting me in trouble," my mom for making me do too many chores, or a silly crush on a boy in school. My entries were very inconsistent from ages seven to about twelve, but then I started writing more regularly, probably because this marked the time where my dad's bipolar disease was out of control, his suicide following shortly thereafter. Oh, and I finally got my first boyfriend (obviously because I stopped wearing my glasses all the time and spent my allowance on Pantene Pro-V shampoo). Since then I've been more or less consistent (maybe one to four times a week), although there are some serious gaps, especially in college.

[after this first one they were known as "journals"- diaries are lame]

I never go back and reread old entries- it's pretty uncomfortable. I do love the process of selecting new journals to write in, once I've completed one. During my youth most of them are obviously very cheap and brightly colored, while in the past few years I've been willing to shell out a bit more for more "mature," understated ones. Lines are a must, as blank pages result in crooked writing and graph paper is just weird. I have yet to decide what I want done with them when I die. There will probably be too many to put in my casket with me, so I'll probably have to have them burnt in the huge chest I will one day buy to store them all. 

I've been very lucky that I've had no horrifying stories about people finding my journals, and that I live with a man who respects my privacy so much that I can leave them out in the open and he won't touch snoop, not that I generally do (he even has Kurt Cobain's journals that were published and refuses to read them, saying it's an invasion of privacy). When I lived with roommates I made sure they were hidden, usually folded up in sweaters, in shoe boxes, or tucked in the back of messy drawers. From what I know, they've remained for my eyes only.

The big question is why, I'm sure. The simple answer- therapy is way too expensive and time-consuming. The long answer is that over the years some shit (both life-changing and in retrospect trivial) has gone down and I haven't wanted to burden people with my problems, so I've turned to writing instead (seldom are the pages of my journals filled with happy, mundane things).  Putting things down on a page allows me to organize my thoughts and find solutions- it's incredibly cathartic. I feel better after even fifteen minutes of writing and it forces me to look at what's happening in life through a different lens, as opposed to sitting around letting my thoughts chase one another around in my head. 

And I'm not the only one who feels this way. Many famous people and successful writers have kept logs of their life. Take Virginia Woolf, Joan Didion, Dave Sedaris (he's been writing every morning for over thirty years), Jonathan Franzen, CS Lewis, Anne Frank, and Frida Kahlo. Oh, and Doogie Howser. I'm in good company. 

Research shows that journaling has major psychological benefits (so, basically, I'd be even more fucked up if I didn't do it). Apparently writing can strengthen brain cell connections, reduce stress by making you come to terms with problems, and help you be happier if you make an effort to include some good things on occasion. It can also help improve your memory.

So, there you have it- I'm one of those people. Judge away.

Have you ever dabbled in journal writing?