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Oct. 21st, 2009

I used to be a person who kept a journal, someone who wrote out the thoughts of my life and kept them for posterity. There was an ease and a calm that came with putting what was in my head down on paper. Ink was calming, and never in my life has my head felt as clear as it did after those moments, minutes, sometimes hours of writing.

I can't be that person anymore.

Somewhere along the line I lost the trust in the page, in the ink and the written word. The noise that I used to be able to quiet with the scratch of a pen now stays locked in my mind, banging and clashing its way around my cerebellum. Really, deep down, I stopped trusting myself and started fearing the things that I would see on the page after the haze cleared. Things I never wanted to admit, things I don't want to share and things that leave me pining over moments and memories that will never be more than just that, moments and memories.

I've never had closer friends, but I've never felt more alone. A little girl adrift at sea, hoping and praying that someone picks her out of the water and puts her back on dry land. Who knows- maybe the ocean is my new home, my new reality; but right now, I'm still looking for my sea legs.

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