I always thought I would be the kind of person that constantly kept a journal brimming to the binding with thoughts and experiences.

When I was a kid, I did this. I wrote in journals and kept them even after the very last page was clogged with my messy handwriting. I remember one journal in particular, the velvet purple butterfly one that seemed to contain the most pivotal moments of my teen years. My friendship with JD, the silly antics we got up to when we were both dabbling in the Wiccan religion, my 4 year long crush on a guy friend that I thought was unrequited, my fears for becoming a spinster because I thought this silly infactuation was true love, never to be returned. The struggles and arguments I had between my sisters and my friends. Silly dramas of high school.

I kept that journal in a metal cash box with other little bits and pieces of my high school days until we lived up North. In this metal box, along with the purple journal, was several notes between JD and I, a couple of mall photo booth shots with me and various people (JD, the guy crush that lasted 4 years, and an ex-boyfriend), my prom couple shot and a small album with photos from those days.

I threw the contents of that box out into the dumpster outside of our house up North after a disagreement between Matt and I. He didn’t understand why I had photos of my ex-boyfriends still.

He never told me to throw it out, I did it out of spite. I wasn’t holding onto them for any particular reason other than they were photo and written evidence of my past, and I thought that one day…I’d maybe like to read through those painful teen years and just remember who I was back then.

I wish I’d never thrown out the letters or the journal, or even the photos. I now don’t have a copy of my actual prom photo, the couple shot with my ex-boyfriend, the posed prom shot that I regret parting with. I shouldn’t have thrown it out just because he was in it. Yes, that relationship failed, as most high school relationships are bound to, but I learned a lot from it.

I wish I could read that purple velvet journal again, just to look back in fondess over the struggles that seemed so big at the time.

I suppose, in a way, I could consider this blog to be a time capsule of my memories from age 16 and on, but it’s not the same as the paper journal and the evolution of penmanship.

Still, I’m glad I never deleted this blog. I’ve lost several months in translation, from moving to one blog to the next, but the majority of it is still there. My transition from thoughtless teen to new mother, from fiancé to wife. Heck, I’m pretty sure that there might be some rambling from my younger high school days, buried within the archives somewhere.

Maybe one day, I’ll print the contents of this blog. All my experiences, from then to now and in the future, in binding. The raw, imperfect reflections, locked on pages.


About J.C. Hannigan

25. Mother. Wife. Lover of words. Weaver of stories. My first book, Collide, is available in e-book for Amazon Kindle and Kobo.
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One Response to Journaling

  1. Erika says:

    I totally identify with this. I used to journal nearly every day when I was a tween/teen, but after college I stopped devoting as much time to putting my thoughts on paper, and I occasionally beat myself up for it. On the other hand, I haven’t gone back to read any of the old stuff, so I don’t know why I care so much about “missing” the opportunity to commit current events to paper. But recently I’ve been thinking about going back to read some of those entries from when I was younger, because my memory isn’t what it used to be, and I’m feeling the need to rediscover those parts of myself.

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