The Journalman's Impression

    This is a small excerpt from a memoir I'm working on. I think I am a little intimidated by psychologists and never really felt like therapy with a stranger would help. Writing this is my own therapy in finally dealing with things that stick with me to this day and I hope to grow from it. A Prayer Answered.      One night of immense darkness, I lay on my floor-bed in deep thought. I let the emotion of the situation wash over me again, tears forming in my eyes for a problem never-ending. I clasped my hands and shut my eyes, communicating with my patron one last time in desperation. I prayed for them to hear my call, to see my lot in its suffering (a repeat of every night I made this call). This time was different though, I vowed it would be the last time I tried in deaf pointlessness. For 2 years I attempted this silly game with no answer. I remember thinking, muttering under my breath in hopes it made my message louder,  “God, there is no way out of...

            As I reflected on my life, working through my process and attempting to philosophize my present, I pulled my journal to the front page to see how far I'd come. I was damaged, deeply, and now more than ever I want so badly to be so unapologetically, ruthlessly and honestly me. Part of this archive project is working through who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.  God I was an angsty 15-year-old. 30th of June, 2014 I received this journal a long time ago from my grandmother. I've always been the conservative type when it came to talking about my feelings and emotions. I'd much rather bottle things up in hopes I forget. Seems like things just continue to remind me they're alive and fresh in my memories. She gave me this leather-bound book with the intention it would somehow give me a sense of rest. I've been skeptical of it, leaving it on my shelf and occasionally using it for sparks of thought or music. And now that I am utilizing t...