Today, as I rummaged through a box of old notebooks and journals, I came across the journal that I wrote in while I was going through my hardest depression. As soon as I saw it my stomach twisted in knots and memories of the way I felt during that dark point in my life came flooding back.
I knew that the words I had written when I was in that terrible place were gone, burnt to ashes and scattered, but just the sight of it saddened me.
On the cover, there are vintage looking photographs of faeries, but on the inside there are the torn reminders of what was once held there.
I remember the day my mother gave it to me. It was the suggestion of my psychologist.
She told me to write down every bad thought that crossed my mind, and I did as she said even though some were too horrible to think about, let alone document for other's eyes.
Writing in that journal and letting the psychologist read it was like letting her into my mind, which at that time, was a very dark and dreadful place.
But today I opened it again.
Just as I suspected, there were the ink stained shreds of paper along the binding where countless pages had been ripped out. But on one page, there was a poem.
Something I had written as I was coming out of my depression, but was not yet fully healed.
Can't you see she's crying?
She's at war with herself.
Can't you see she's lying,
When she says she feels just fine?
All this time she has been trapped,
Tormented by her own mind.
How can you escape yourself?
Is there any honest way?
When she cries herself to sleep at night,
She promises herself she'll stay.
No one can ever understand
What it's like to hold her hand
With a dagger at her side.
When I was in that place, that place in between darkness and light, I learned what it meant to love life.
It took me more than two years, but I pulled myself out of it. I put myself back into life.
Now I'm happy, even if I have to fight depression from time to time.
I'm in more control of my own life now. I don't feel like I'm falling.
Because when I feel myself slipping again, I know my friends and family are there to lift me up.
They are there to make me remember who I am, and why I do the things that I do.
They make me remember my purpose, and they make me feel wanted.
I love them more than words can express.
Peace, love, and Minecraft,
Sara
That was beautiful, Sara. I don't really share this with a lot of people, but your post reminded me of some personal moments in my life. About two years ago my dad passed away unexpectedly, and for the first few days after it happened I wrote about it. I've never shown anyone this journal, but it's full of some really really emotional thoughts and poems. Every so often I come back to that journal and read what I wrote. It seriously makes me cry my eyes out every time, thinking about where I was, where I am now, and everything that I've forgotten. It's crazy how powerfully writing can connect you with your feelings. <3
ReplyDeleteI'm very sorry for your loss, I don't know what I would do if either of my parents passed away.
ReplyDeleteAbout the journals;
It truly is powerful. It's like taking a mental snapshot with every word written down. Sometimes I wish I could remember what was on those pages that I destroyed.
~Sara