Notebooks

I used to carry notebooks around with me. I would write in them all the time, everywhere I went. I always had some kind of notebook with me. A place to capture emotion that I had such a hard time releasing otherwise. A place to write fantasies. Poems. I'd take my notebook to therapy, to groups I went to, to doctors visits. Anywhere and everywhere I could possibly need a moment of clarity, a moment to write. A moment to feel or a moment to let go.

For some reason, this is the last one I kept. It's dated January 2014 - August 2014.

I loved this notebook. It was my lifeline, filled with so much emotion. It was with me during some pretty shitty times. Which is kind of what I want to write about now.

Here, for example, is a sample of what this notebook contains.

So. Much. Sadness. So much grief. So much anger. I was a very, very angry human. Towards how my life had turned out thus far. I felt like such a failure. I was angry towards myself for never being able to get a handle on my depression. I was angry at the way others interacted with me. I was mad, I was sad, I was overwhelmed, I was hopeless. And I felt all alone.

But.

I don't know. The notebook ended. And I didn't get another. And I stopped writing.

But.

I am still here. I reread my teal notebook. And I AM STILL HERE. Do you have any idea how utterly amazing that is?? I hung in there. I NEVER gave up. I fought and dammit I fought hard. Even when I felt all alone in this great big universe, I fought and I stayed alive. Reading my notebooks now, I am astonished at how far I have come. And I am beyond thrilled that I CAN see how far I've come! I've overcome deep heartbreak, so much anger, and I have risen above and become a better human because of it. I have to hand it to my past self: Past Self, you are a warrior. Look at you. Against all odds and against every ounce of doubt in this world, you survived. And I am PROUD.

I can see this now because of my notebooks. I'm going to start carrying around a small notebook again. Someplace to start writing down the inner working of my brain. A poem, a rage page, words... sometimes, just words.