I have a little moleskine journal I bought a couple of years ago. The original intent was to write things in there just for me. Things I had been thinking about for a long time. A lot of volatile and depressing thoughts that I figured I could write down and that would somehow flush them out of my system.
It seemed to work, for a few days. But the things that I was writing were so personal and private that there was no way in the world I would let anyone else read from this little book.
Ultimately I stopped writing in it for a couple of reason. Getting all of my mental baggage down on paper was therapeutic to begin with, but soon it just got more depressing than relieving to process those feelings into cogent sentences and I decided to abandon the endeavor as a method of therapy.
The other reason had more to do with vanity. I knew if I was going to spend time writing something I wanted to be able to share it with other people. No one would want to read the stuff I was writing, least of all me. And sometimes I think about tearing out those old pages with their silly self-involved scrawl and throwing them away so that I might use the rest of the book for something else.
The jury is still out on that.
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