The Journal

Buona sera world,

As you can tell by the frequent posts of thoughts, rants, and other writings of mine that can be labeled with numerous titles... I love to write.

My writing was influenced by my mother at a very young age. 
You see, my mom would keep journals next to her bed with her pretty, loop filled, handwriting covering every single line of every single page.
I remember peeking into some of these journals at a very young age and seeing "Dear Father" and "Oh Lord" italicized at the top of a few left hand pages.
And that's where it all began... because my mom was and is my role model. I began my own intimate conversation journal when I was seven, and the habit has grown into an addiction.

Tonight, after almost a year of not having a pretty place to write down every prayer and thought that I have that I don't want anyone else to know, I brought home a new empty book.
It's lovely.
Teal and brown with gold highlights.
And its mine... my own space to write whatever I need to... to pray whatever my heart oozes.

Last night was the deciding factor on this purchase, as I cried myself to sleep for the first time in a long time, and all I wanted to do was have a safe place to write down my lamentatious prayers.
Prayers riddled with whys. 


Having a journal for most of my first year of college was tremendously helpful, both then and often times now... because I look back on my prayers and my poems and prose, and I see a girl growing into the woman she is created to be.
When I look in the mirror, I don't really see that person, nor do I think of myself as that person, because, let's be honest, I feel like I am still 14 years old and walking into high school for the first time.
But my journal is a mirror of who I am really.

It also is the guiding map to avoid the ridiculously huge mistakes that I've made in the past...
This summer, I put away my map and immediately fell into the enormous pot hole I had charted out just months before.
It left me bruised and now has left me absolutely heart broken for a third time. 
I glance back at the tear stained pages of last November, and I see my hurt manifested through red ink... and I see its exactly the same place as where I am now.
And I hear His voice ever so clearly as He says "Darling, why don't you listen to Me? I don't want you to hurt this way ever... It was never My intention."

It was never His intention... nor do I understand why He allowed it to happen... and I don't believe that He will reveal that mystery to me in the near or late future.
But it happened... and I alone am having to deal with the consequences.

I feel very alone... and for once, I'm more than ok with that.
For once, I want to be left alone.
And for the thousandth time, I want to slip away without anyone knowing and never come back... because running away is simpler than dealing with hurt and the anger.

Thank goodness for a pretty blue journal that can hold my tears, frustrated prayers and names.