The busier I was, the less time I had to think about consequences, moral dilemmas, or philosophical positions of my purpose in life. I kept my weeks packed with studying for class and working out at the gym; while on the weekend, Kevin, Smitty, and I were taking on the east coast with a fury. We would be in Atlantic City one weekend and in Ocean City, Maryland the next. We made our way into sophisticated clubs in New York City and fraternity blowouts at the University of Delaware. Our social network was spreading fast and before we knew it, we had people calling us to find out where to be and who was going to be there. From the outside, it seemed like everything was going great. I was popular, confident, and finally seeing some progress from all of my hard work at the gym. But, inside, I was aching, scared, and lonely.
When I was ten years old my grandmother handed me a small book with a hard cover filled with empty pages. When I asked her what it was for, she said it was whatever I wanted it to be. I could write about my day, compose a poem, or write out my feelings. It was a place where I could be completely honest or creative and never had to show it to anyone if I didn’t want to. On that day, in that book, I fell in love with journaling. I immediately sat down and wrote two poems. One was about children and the other was about a trampoline (ok, so I was no Poe, but cut me some slack. Trampolines are really inspirational to a ten year old boy). I couldn’t fill the book up fast enough. I started out writing poems and complaints about my sister which eventually progressed to feelings about relationships and thoughts about friends. I remember one summer in the fifth grade I dedicated half a journal to my girlfriend at the time who had promised to send me cards on her family vacation, but never did. At the end of the summer, I played “I Swear” by All 4 One on her answering machine…the whole song. When I saw her again on the first day of the sixth grade, she told me her dad didn’t want her seeing me anymore. I told her I was going to write about her in my journal and this time it wasn’t going to be nice.
As I got older, I learned not to use my journal as a tool for vengeance, but found comfort in having a place to honestly and openly release my thoughts and feelings. This passion for writing and expressing myself has stuck with me even today. If you were to open the second drawer on the left side of my desk right now, you would find four completed journals. And, if you opened the second drawer on the right, you would find five notebooks filled front to back with short stories, song lyrics, and free thoughts. At this present time, I am writing in a journal for Addy, a journal for my spiritual growth, and a notebook with a new song idea. Oh, and I’m writing this blog. It’s not hypergraphia, but let’s just say I like to write.
During the time in my life when I was partying every weekend, I still kept with my journaling; writing about once a month. Below is an actual excerpt from my journal at that time:
I feel like I haven’t been thinking lately. I used to be so good at evaluating situations. I wasn’t perfect by any means, but I used to try to think things through. Now, my life is definitely moving forward by way of my occupation, but I’m messing the rest of it all up. Partying, not being as social as I would like to be. I have such high expectations, but expect it to just fall right in my lap. I try to be everyone, but myself. I’m always putting on an act. I’m scared to death to open up to anyone any more. I need something to fill the void. There has been so much disappointment. I always convince myself to put my heart in these situations…disappointment.
Yep, inside I was torn. Journaling was the only time in which I could step outside of the worldly clutter I had buried myself in and take a look at what was really going on. Unfortunately for me, there is a distinct difference between knowing something isn’t right and making changes to fix it. As soon as the journal closed, I was out of line and back on the roller coaster. Hoping for a high rise, but preparing for fast fall.
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