goldmourn (amberdawnpullin) wrote,

letter to my paper journal

Monday, October 13th, 2014.
dear paper journal,

I know we haven't been close for some time now. I've been writing my words online when I've felt like sharing anything, it just seems like it ought to go on my page, you know? My (home)page used to be in between the covers of a paper journal. There wouldn't be 35 of you if that wasn't so. But there were times when all I had was you, the paper, the pen and thoughts I couldn't share anywhere else but with you. There are still some things I want to say that will only be said on paper but I'm so used to keeping it to myself and writing about other things instead that it just goes unsaid. That's why I'm trying to change.

For the month of October, I've been writing a page (sometimes two) in you to try and get back into the groove of pen to paper. I'm not used to you yet and it isn't second nature. I've been disconnected by being too connected (online) for such a long time that I don't know how to write between lines when I'm so used to space and silence, silence and space.

7:40pm The thing is, paper journal, is that I don't know how to write about certain things anymore. Sure, I'll mention to you that my Mother visited me recently and returned the bouquet, but I won't write to you about the way I felt afterward, or even days after that. There are some things, no matter how much effort and hope you put into it, that can't be changed. I told myself I had accepted the situation as it is but I'm learning that won't be enough. I'd write, she should be proud of me, not jealous. I'd write that, I wish I didn't feel bad about how pathetic I feel to be in my mid-30's and still not be able to be the kid a parent can love. Is the problem me or more for the attempt to make something be that isn't?

I'd write that I don't want to have to buy anyone's friendship or love anymore. Including the person who gave birth to me.

10:20pm Other things I haven't been sharing with you, paper journal:
- the details of my daily nightmares, the dreams that trigger memories of the factory, of a past relationship, of where I used to live and the city I live in now
- how I feel about my body these days, the way I'm trying to treat it better but simultaneously feeling horrible about my condition, the way I let things go
- the way my sleepy nearly unconscious self is loving toward my husband when he says goodbye before work in the morning and for some reason this surprises me, as though I expect my self to be more cynical, cold with walls up and guarded like I am much of the time when I'm awake.
- I want to write poetry in you, paper journal, but that's not what I do in paper journals.
But I wish I did and I wonder if you do, too.

11:06pm Another thing I'd tell you is how beautiful you are. Yes, you, paper journal #35. You're beautiful on the outside and your lines are just right on the inside. The memory of picking you out in a shop in Venice in St. Mark's Square makes you magic for me. In case you didn't know, it's been a long time since I've been able to feel connected to magic. Maybe I hesitate to write in you because I'm not sure if I have any left anymore. Or I'm afraid to do the work to reconnect to it. You're supposed to be full of incredible words because I found you in an incredible place. That puts a lot of pressure on both you and me, paper journal, and I think that's why there are so very many pages left in you despite starting you off on January 1st of this year.

Ah, the brand new year start! That the other thing. I wanted to write in my paper journal every day, beginning at the New Year, and I didn't follow through with that at all. For the month of October, I've been forcing myself to write in you each day and I think we both know it's not been easy - some entries are forced and clearly there is not much to feel inspired about in these pages - but I hope you can sense that I'm trying.

In October, a month that has always been a mystery for me, I want to find myself again: the way I want to be, the way I hope to be, the way I am in the moment I set my pen to your pages to when I set it down.

I'm not giving up on you paper journal #35.
Oh you, bought in a place of wonder, dreams & nightmares -
I hope you won't give up on me.

amber dawn (goldmourn)

Also posted in embodiment over here!
Tags: embodiment, poetry & prose

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