Back in the early ’80’s, I tried my hand at journaling. I used a Hilroy scribbler and jotted my thoughts down a few times. Then I forgot about it, hidden under my mattress.
Years later, my mother found it. Read it. Kept it. Told me about it a short time ago. I’m glad I switched to writing in code after a while.
More recently, my SIL found it, took some photos to send me, then left it.
I just glanced through it. How embarrassing! And yet, sad, as the few entries included descriptions of what, in our modern times, would be considered physical abuse.
Oh, how dramatically I wrote. Such angst! Such hyperbole!
That thing is going into the burn barrel right now, as it should have, years ago!