Journal'ing...

Never really bothered keeping a journal or diary or whatever you want to call it. Always felt that this was a 'rather silly thing to do that keeps folks busy with rubbish. But as the 'therapist from hell' suggested I keep one, and also said that I only needed to write down the first five words that came to mind when I sat down to do it, I thought it could not really hurt...

Well, It started about two weeks ago. I went out and bought a nice leather bound journal'lly thing (have to have some style, I'll have you know!), and sat down the nest morning before my morning coffee and wrote down the first five words that came to mind. Then, I put it next to the bed and carried on with my day. The next morning, the same thing - quick few words and there we go. But on the first Saturday morning, I felt a little lonely and decided to write a few more word - still the first five words, but this was followed by a paragraph of ramblings and thoughts. And now - every morning it's a whole page (sometimes two!) of me running of my mouth at whatever comes to mind.

And yesterday, I read some of the things I've written of the last few days... Boy oh boy - have I got issues! But, that said, this is the first time in my life I've been able to put words to my feelings. Yes, I've written about how I feel and what I feel but it was always on level where I could manage it or say what people needed to hear. I mean, I'm an expert at doing that, but this - wow, I'm stumped. I've never been so brutally honest with myself. It's good. It's all good, I think...

So, once again this sneaky little bugger of a therapist has made me do something I did not really want to do - look inside and see the 'real' me...

TTFN