Memory

I’m not good at these things. You see, I try every year to keep a journal and it never works. I always feel silly writing down things that I feel or things that happen. Like, what am I even supposed to say? Everything that I end up writing sounds cliche and I end up feeling more embarrassed than relaxed or whatever I’m supposed to feel. Who knows. My therapist says that I should start keeping one though. Partly because I have a serious issue when it comes to my feelings, as in I don’t let myself feel them. Works for me, I don’t see why it’s a problem? Except it’s obviously not working for me if I’m in therapy. Anyways. The other reason I’m supposed to keep a journal is because I CANNOT remember anything. Like anything. It makes me really sad because I can’t remember hardly anything of the last 5 years of my relationship. Or hardly any of my daughter’s life. It’s not that I can’t remember, it’s kind of like there is a blanket over those memories. I feel them, I know they are there, but I can’t concentrate hard enough to think about them. I’m not sure. It’s confusing. It also sucks. Nothing has happened in these past years to cause this. No traumatic event. At least not recently. My childhood was messy. Who doesn’t have a messy childhood though? I think it is completely ridiculous and unfair that mine is causing me to be able to see my feelings, see what I want, but have it just out of reach so I am constantly feeling like I’m looking down a longgggg hallway at what I want. But on the opposite side of that, I can’t even tell you what I want. I have everything I want. An amazing husband (though we have our problems), a baby girl, the opportunity to go to university and achieve a great career. But yet, I’m not happy. It’s not that I’m unhappy either. I’m just here. I think I’m happy, but I don’t necessarily feel it? It’s the damn blanket. Blocking things that are just out of reach, an inch away from my fingers ability to feel them. Annoying. So here it is. My first journal entry. I had a whole list of what I was going to write. I wanted to write about the person I wanted to be, the characteristic traits I wanted to have. Ya know, so I could remember to change and who I wanted to change in to. The funny thing is about that though, I can make all the lists I want, it doesn’t mean I’m going to change. Realistically I know that I have to actually do something to change. Actions speak longer than words, but words are so much easier to come up with.