I have written a journal almost constantly since I was perhaps 15.
I love it. I can express on it all of my emotions, but still secrets are kept. I can write on it all of my thoughts.
It is, I must say, because of the journals I have kept that I have overcome so much adversity and it is journals which help me to push myslef further, and become better, every singl day. More often I do not know it, but the simple act of sitting in front of my computer and writing my thoughts down helps tremendously towards taking me further to what I want.
The problem I think is that, all the journals I have written, perhaps five or six, are now forever gone and deleted.
The strange thing is that in every entry, though I primarely write about myself and for myself, I aboslutley feel like there is an audience out there. Yet the more stranger thing is that, regardless of the imaginary glory of the moment, a diary to me is a personal thing, for my eyes only. It is something which maks sense to me only, and sometimes, to the moment that I wrote it alone.
Diaries can be dangerous. They are a perfect tool for narrowing your thinking. What you want is repeated over and ver, to the point that you do not feel that you want it anymore but are just saying so.
But I love writing journal entires. Despite the many journals that were deleted by whim and others that were deleted not by choice, I love writing them.
A journal makes me mak sense of what is was ad could be, and tthat, abouve my childrens fascination, is why I write them, despite the fact that they end up deleted and disapeared forever.