Friday, August 12, 2011


I've kept some form of diary or journal since I was little.  I still remember the little Lisa Frank notebook I had in elementary school, with its yellow plastic lock and its rainbow-colored pages.  In it, I wrote about everything from going to school to making limeade in the kitchen with my mom, all in a big, awkward script that might have indicated a lack of fine-tuned motor skills.  Since then, I've filled countless pages with opinions, aspirations, secret crushes, song lyrics.  It's always amusing to look back and see how my thought processes have changed over time (I'd say "matured," but somehow I don't think that's consistently been the case).  All these years, it's been nice to have a safe place for my deepest thoughts, greatest ideas, and darkest secrets, whether it's in Notepad or on notebook paper (these days I use both).  Call it therapy, if you will.

But sometimes I grow weary of one sided conversations with word processors of various capacity.  And I find myself wishing that I didn't have to put so many guards up when other people are involved, even if they are there for my own good.  Cryptic web posts that dance around the things I desperately want to say, conversations where names are omitted to protect the parties in question...these things start to seem so artificial, so unsatisfying.

What I really the ability to be completely open.  I wish I could just say whatever's bothering me out loud, no censorship, no diplomatic choice of words...just vulnerability.  I want nothing more than to break my own barriers, shed the armor I sleep with, and stand there, figuratively naked, letting just one person see and understand everything I've ever hidden away in a book with a lock and key.

Because somehow, I think transparency may be the best therapy of all.

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