I used to keep a handwritten journal of all the secret things I felt I couldn't tell anybody else. There were pages and pages of front and back scribbles from as early as 13. Sometime before turning 18, I just kinda stopped. It wasn't that I'd run out of pages, I think there were a few left blank in the bank. I don't know what it was. My social life had blossomed exponentially as the journal went on. That could have been a factor in it. I was in a committed relationship. There's another factor.
This book contained 5 years or so of my life, and it somehow saddens me. I hate that I didn't keep up with it. Some of the things that might have made it in there, I've shared with random people. I'm sure any random thing I shared with a random person wouldn't be remembered. Then I've shrouded some of these thoughts in vague posts on here or in shorter form on Twitter. I don't share as much of my life on Facebook as I used to. Learned my lesson there.
OneRepublic has their song "Secrets" where they sing about giving all their secrets away. Even though at times I feel like the secrets I keep are going to rot me from the inside out, I don't think I could ever give them all away. There is shit that feels its almost not even real. But then questioning that opens the rabbit hole to bigger issues I wouldn't even want to address. Even with myself.
See? I've already lost track of where I was going with this.
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