Anyways, on my break, I decided to troll around my different websites: this blog, twitter, and my Facebook, just to see what I can do after I finished reading Till we Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, a great retelling of the Greek myth Psyche told in the sisters perspective. In one of my notes that I posted on my Facebook, it said I had three journals that I actively keep up to date and in order. I found six that I write in (both randomly and actively) and two that I have never raped with a pen. Three of them are filled, as in there are two to three pages left or have no more room worth writing in, and the rest I have yet to complete. I don't remember much of what I was writing in these books, but after peeking in I found some vague matters of severe depression and paranoia surrounding my so called love life, the changes and different perspectives I have overcome that I would like to reflect on it here, vaguely.
Number one: more often than not I actually started with the dark blue journal with the purple flower encased with an orange portrait. I actually began writing in that one explaining simple fairy tale fantasies of a love struck girl that was contemplating returning to an old flame or not, further transforming to an ardent and unrequited love that actually made me question love in general to a love that was in no way ideal, and haunted me throughout the rest of my journals.
Number 2: two certain males that have affected my love life are written continuously throughout all six of these journals, making me realize I spent too much time with them and what I wanted from them. I needed to move on, but up to this point in my life, nothing good came along to change my views of love or who I should love. In other words, I am still somewhat stuck, and still take in what I feel for them in an affectionate tone towards anything romantic that I write to this day.
Number 3: dramatic indeed! Nothing in the majority of these journals was happy, or nice for that matter. I was a depressed young one, and never really gave it much thought. But I do have to admit, what I experienced in high school was so dramatic, it was begging for its own reality TV show on Vh1.
Number 4: there are some potential ideas that I haven't revisited in years. All these journals began comforting me in my freshman year of high school, and have followed me throughout the years as I continue on in college, still being filled, although I am mostly focusing on the big grey one.
As I conclude, I would like to say that I would love to write out everything in chronological order that is in my journals, showcasing my writings and what I want to do once I begin a career in writing. But in the end I am always and forever just a shy and protective girl. Like I told a friend, there are some things that you should remain a secret, because that's what can make you so irresistible. Plus, some of my friends already know the majority of these works, but they don't really know the truth of my emotions that I have over these certain events. They just know the façade that I have kept up to this day. Why would I want to change my mind now, when that drama happened too long ago?
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