Monday, April 4, 2011
I write by hand whatever comes to mind, a stream of consciousness, an ejection of freewriting. Some days the pages are covered with crooked, close to illegible, scrawls. Other days, letters are fine-edged, calm and even.
The emptying out of the goings-on in the brain, the absence of need to punctuate or obsess about syntax or phrasing -it's only me who's reading anyway. This is a no-editting-necessary purging of thoughts, followed by a surge of relief.
It's now all out of the system, down on paper, off the chest. The good, the bad and the ugly, placed honestly on a "For My Eyes Only" blueprint.
Best of all is days, weeks, months or even years on, reading back the worried bits.
I've survived. All is well. What on earth was I getting so het up about?
“Writing, expressing can heal us. It can focus, support, and enhance our lives and well-being. Whether we laugh or we cry, whether through sorrow or joy, we can understand more about ourselves, and each other, through keeping a journal, diary, or diaries.”
- Doreene Clement