When journaling won’t cut it

So, I went out and bought a new notebook today. Now allow me to say that, by buying a new notebook, I am truly defining the insanity that is my life. Here is why. Whenever I get “down in the dumps,” I go out and buy a new notebook. My thought is that I’ll get back to journaling. I used to write a lot when I was a kid. I’d write about everything . . . boyfriends, friend drama, everything. And looking back now, everything seemed to be all right. But I was just a kid. Now I’m adult. Bills, husband, son, work, etc.

I quit journaling regularly years and years ago. I have no specific reason why. I just fell out of the habit.

So, again, every time I get down in the dumps these days I go out and buy a new notebook. I think that I’ll get back into the habit of journaling and everything will be peachy keen just like it was when I was a kid.

I can’t tell you how many notebooks I’ve bought in the past 20 years. I always start strong. I’ll journal for several days in a row, maybe even a couple weeks in a row. But then something always happens. Life intervenes, and I miss a day or two or 15. Life goes on for a while, and then I have to go out and buy a new notebook. Insanity.

The insanity lies in the fact that I think that journaling is what will fix everything. If I spew forth the words from my ink pen then all will be well. But that’s bullshit.

For a long time I fancied myself as a writer. I wrote tons of poetry, the occasional short story, and one very bad novel that I published on Amazon. It was awful! I didn’t write all of that with aspirations of being some hugely famous writer. I wrote it because I had words inside of me that needed to come out. And when I try to force myself to journal, I have no words. I can’t write down what I can’t even put into words verbally.

I learned a new word today: Anhedonia. Basically it means, according to Google, the lack of ability to feel pleasure in anything. Not just physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. Have you ever felt like that?

I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately. I’ve felt empty. I’ve felt like my life has no meaning, no direction, no purpose. After having lost my job, and thus a big chunk of my identity, I’ve been struggling with depression. I have felt joy in nothing. I learned today that there is a word for that. That gave me joy. It wasn’t the learning of a new vocabulary word. It was learning that enough people in the world struggle with that very thing so much that there’s a word for it. I am not alone. If you’ve ever struggled depression, you know what it’s like to feel alone. To feel like you’re the only one that feels that way. To feel like you have nobody to talk to. To feel like nobody will care how you feel. To feel like to try to reach out to somebody will be to inconvenience them. I am not alone. You are not alone. The simple fact that there is a medical term defining how you feel means you are not alone! There are others that feel the same way as you.

I started this post talking about notebooks and journaling and my inability to journal. I wrote none of this post. I didn’t type it. I opened a speech-to-text app on my phone and dictated it to WordPress. Why? Because because sometimes a person just needs to talk to get to the words out.

Who can you talk too?

Until next time…

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