Be Specific

I bought a journal last week. I've been told it looks "very me." I'm pumped about that, because I like how it looks. I must like my style.

I want to journal in 2009. I hope I'll be consistent with it. I'm pretty sure I won't do it everyday, but I want to try.

Just the idea that this book exists scares the hell out of me. Literally scares me to death. The idea that someone could read it and see things I thought that I'm not ready for them (or anybody?) to hear... It just scares me to have something tangible that other people can engage simply by having it that will expose me for me. I have a deep fear that if people know me, then they won't like me anymore. I think most people have that fear. This book just intensifies the possibility of people figuring out who I am.

In any event, I've decided to post here, my first journal entry that I just wrote. Well, at least the first 30% or so of it. I hope it is enlightening. It was for me just to write it.
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"So here I start, journaling... It's a pretty scary proposition to me. I feel terrified that a book could even record thoughts that I don't want anyone else to see. Not that I necessarily don't want people to know some of the things I write, but I don't think that everything I write is going to be material that I'm okay with people reading.

I'd rather this not be like my blog, ya know?

In the blog, I censor myself. I have to. The material I post in there needs to be material that I'm okay with other people reading and knowing and just understanding that I think about X, Y, and Z a lot even though I know I shouldn't. I know I shouldnt think about or dwell on girls and love and relationships and money or whatever else I freak about. I think a lot about things that don't really deserve or warrant the attention I give them. A whole lot. A way way lot. A lot more than I should. A lot.

I don't talk about those things in the blog. They make me seem real weak and crazy and broken. They make me seem like I have baggage and I hate the idea of people thinking I have baggage. HATE IT. So I don't show it. I don't blog about the things that are painful and heartbreaking and hurtful and consuming. They're just too much.

Instead, I only blog about processed things. It's not like I think people don't know that I'm weak and crazy and broken, but to show anyone, in a blog, specifically why and who and how I am broken and hurting and weak: that is just terrifying, and I don't think it's appropriate. So I won't do it.

And that's why I've started this. So I can consistently be specific somewhere outside the the 23 inch circumference of my head. Here I can name names and record vivid memories and emotions and experiences that might be too open for a blog. On the blog, that would just make me seem pissy or crazy. But here... here it just makes me, me."
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After that I went on to name names and tell stories. I'd say more but it wouldn't be appropriate.
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Peace.