Monday, January 23, 2012

Journal Entry

Since getting married, I haven't done as much writing as I used to do.  I've done a lot more blogging, but for some reason I think that spilling my emotions onto a piece of paper is somehow immature.  I view it as a sign of distrust for my partner.  Before I had him, so often all I had was paper.  I need him to know, and I need me to know, that I trust him with everything.

Today, though, I was upset.  Then, I was stupid.  It's funny how often I get stupid when I'm upset.  I went to my usual antidepressant: food.  After eating two days' worth of calories in one sitting and watching an hour and a half of silly tv shows on the internet, I finally calmed down enough to think my way logically through the upset and subsequent stupid.  As often happens, I got a little depressed about the stupid. 

Then, as always, I got into a battle with myself.  You see, the depressed wanted to turn into resignation and acceptance of my inadequate self and my un-shining fate.  That fought with my ever-present but relatively unsupported sense of determination and belief that I can be better than what I am. 

I need to be different.  I need to do things differently, to reach my goals, to be fulfilled, to be happy.  Perhaps I need to start writing again.  This won't be my journal writing... that's for posterity and obedience.  This writing is strictly for me, for processing, for living and loving who I am.  It's remarkable how hard those two things are.

On a happy note, I bought a pair of jeans on Saturday.  It was the fastest, happiest shopping trip I've ever had.  I found a pair of jeans at Sears for half their original price.  Size 12 looked like it might fit me, so I dared to try them.  They slid on nicely, fit beautifully, and were more comfortable than any jeans I've worn in years.  It's a step in the right direction.


  1. Congrats on the jeans!

    I fight with myself over the journal issue. Is it for me? For posterity? Is my family going to be mad about the true things I write if it's not presented as picture-perfect? We're sometimes straight out of a family home evening manual, but more often messy, real, and emotional. And that's okay. We're okay.

    So, is my journal supposed to be a Christmas letter? Because that's about how often I will write if it's supposed to be a wonderful, perfect "for-posterity" depiction.

    On the other hand, there are the things you shouldn't say, especially in public...Like Bro. S. who said in front of the whole ward, after his 6th or 7th son was born, that his wife wanted to try again because she still wanted a girl. No! Don't you dare tell those boys they are worth so little that she has to keep trying until she gets what she wants! I probably should have said that to his face. I was mad enough to spit nails.

    For the record, though I know I would have loved a daughter if I'd had one, I never felt cheated by having all boys. I adore them! And now I have two grand-daughters to do all the "pretty" things for.

    Well, that's way off the subject...which is, how real do we get in a journal, life history, etc. I would like mine to be locked away until I have great-grandchildren, but maybe the "real" issues I deal with will help the grandchildren understand their families. I don't know. I just know I have to write, and be me.

    I know people who deal with serious emotional issues in separate notebooks, and toss them out when they are done. They say it's a tremendous release to burn such pages and watch it all go up in smoke. So that's a thought.

    I know one thing, if I write about an argument, I will cry, and scrawl, rant and rave on the page, and then the whole picture starts coming through, and I am seeing the other side, and writing it too...(it is kind of irritating sometimes.) But it is much better for relationships than ranting and raving to their face, saying hurtful things I can't take back and being so sorry later.

    so I say, write away! Work it out on the paper if it's helpful.

  2. Congratulations on the jeans!

    I wrote a long and complex comment that I actually wanted to repost on my blog, and I should have hit "copy" because the computer went into never-never-cyberland and it wouldn't post.

    Write away, Chelsea! It's healthy!

    If my journal is supposed to read like the Christmas letter, I'll write about that often.

    Sometimes we look like the perfect family home evening picture, but more often we're real, and emotional, and messy, and it's okay. We're okay.

    If they get mad at what I wrote, I'll be dead and not care any more, right? And maybe they'll learn and grow and change from it.

    Or maybe I'll leave them all to Leilani's children in my will, to be shared at their discretion.