Old Journal Entries
My absolute favourite thing about both blogging and journaling has nothing to do with the process of writing them; it’s to go back and read what I once wrote, after enough time has passed that I’ve forgotten what I might have been thinking or feeling then. This week I reread a handful of old journal entries from last April and, well, it was an experience to say the least.
I was doing really, really, really badly mental health wise. They were clearly the words of an exceptionally unwell person, out of touch with reality, panicking and flailing and falling. I think I would have found it upsetting to read even if the author were a total stranger, but knowing that not only was the author myself, that it was only a year ago, was deeply disconcerting. In a sense, it feels good to be so disconnected from that person now, but in another, I know that he’s still somewhere in me, and given how recently I wrote that, he is clearly not as well buried as I might otherwise thing. Reading it definitely scared me, but it was a valuable reminder that I can’t be complacent about my mental health either; even when I feel like I’m doing well, I need to keep working on it, and being attentive to what is and isn’t beneficial for my wellbeing.
There was one thing that made me smile, that offered some redemption to the whole experience. Amidst a sea of obsessive, anguished, stream-of-consciousness drivel, was a throwaway comment at the end of an entry, practically a footnote;
I’ve also had the first spark of an idea to move to London after travelling for a few months. It would almost certainly be a good move for my career, I’d be able to go to gigs, I’d be able to go to better climbing gyms, I’d be able to travel easier. More thoughts soon I’m sure.
Well, look at me now.