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Can I read it?

I had a very interesting and helpful therapy session today. I am doing my best to uncover who I really am. Let me explain that, because it is hard to understand (especially for me) exactly what type of process I am going through.

Uncovering who I am: I am writer, or at least that is how I see myself and what I would like to be. Chronically, I have kept journals, diaries, notebooks, etc. and I am addicted to them. I write more days than I do not on average. And the narratives from inside these horrifying little books is disturbing…even to myself.

My therapist (Emma) kept asking me, “do people tell you you do or say things that you do not remember.” I kept saying “no,” because that’s the truth. But, I write things I don’t remember. All. The. Time. The narrative is noticeably almost a different person. Or person(s)? I wanted to show my therapist where I actually live. So I brought it in to my session this afternoon.

It felt good to see Emma reading it. She looked genuinely interested and somewhat enthralled even. She saw what she was looking for and understood what I meant. What I mean when I say, I’m trapped in there. I am trapped.

Emma confirmed things that have plagued me. My hand writing. My handwriting is never uniform. I do not own my own handwriting. It is borrowed almost, and I try (consciously) to keep it neat-to try and develop my own. I have always tried, as far back as I can remember it has been a thought that bothers me. I hate even looking at it. I want it to be fluid, neat, uniform. But I cannot.

Something that interested me after she flipped and read through it a bit…was that the narrative changes. A lot. Between first person, third person, and a mix she said. I had never noticed that.

I also never noticed that it is seemingly more than one person or even two who write in my diary. Theses are questions I have always wanted answered, addressed, noticed, fuck, anything.

I want to be understood, especially by myself, who seems to be the most left in the dark. I just want to be solid for the first time. I want to be one person instead of one of the shattered pieces of my own mind. I’m trying.


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