Just for me!

It's been a long time since I've written just for me. My last journal was a pathetic attempt at it. I thought I could keep friends updated and write what I wanted (I began it because old acquaintances were clamoring for me to join the recent wave of online sharing, something I discovered I'm not good at). But things often snowball out-of-control, don't they? Soon so many people had my livejournal link that I couldn't be myself. That left me in the predicament of having a wide audience to share my life with . . . a life that wasn't truly me. So I tried my hand at wit and entertainment. It was a fun attempt, but was not the outlet I craved. It didn't give me a product that helped me to reflect upon my latest life lessons and predicaments, or a place to grieve fresh pain and properly bury sorrow. It wasn't a forum to vent, perchance someone think it about them (especially when it was . . .!). It wasn't a place to be truthful - that hard, glaring concept that I already have trouble swallowing - do I really want to share that with a melee of close friends, past friends, and strangers? It was not a journal I could look back upon and truly remember what I was experiencing. God has gifted me the ability to forget the past and forge on with the future. Writing is my tool for remembering the emotions, the lessons, the trials endured and the battles won. Writing keeps my experience archival - for the times when I need to draw upon my past and use it in my present. Journaling gives me a reality-check. But only ONLY if I can be myself. I'm reigning in my fear that other people will stumble upon this (once I figure out how to use the security settings, I'll feel much better), and I'm trying to remember how to be myself. Isn't that silly? Almost 26 years of being Lindsay, and I don't think I know how to tap into her anymore. I need to find that girl again, the girl who wrote with a passion and a veracite.