On my first day at the hospital, they gave me a journal and told me to write.
"Write down your feelings." They said, "It will help."
The journal was yellow. I hate yellow. In fact I highly despise yellow.
The journal is mostly empty. In my five-week hospital stint I only wrote in it once, maybe twice. The thing was, I was scared. I was scared of the thoughts running through my head. Writing them down made them real, and I did not want them to be real.
One page in the notebook is filled with my terrifying thoughts. They are scrawling, jumbled, and almost completely incoherent. The writing becomes larger and larger and more illegible as the page moves downward.
The last words are "let me die."
I am scared of that notebook. It only has one entry, but that one page of writing scares the living daylights out of me. That was where my mind was only six months ago.
But I'm not afraid of my thoughts anymore. At least not most of them. And because I'm not afraid anymore, I'm writing again. I'm going to write everything.
Just not in a yellow journal.
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