Here is an unedited post, written in January 2024. I reflect on past diaries, failed attempts at keeping them, why it clicked this time around, after 13 years, and some other forms of journaling practices.
So, I received this diary for Christmas. It’s the “Poetry In Bloom” 2024 Edition from Paperblanks. When I mentioned it initially, I wrote that I hadn’t journaled for about 16 years, but that number was well off because I found another journal I had bought from Paperchase in 2011, which I could’ve sworn I bought in 2009!! What this shows is that I had made several attempts to do so in the past, but failed to stick with it each time, and still kept them, anyway. In the case of 2011, it was more for routine during studies than keeping a journal, but at some point, I had shut this out of my memory. Trying to piece this time together through looking at my writing and poetry of the time, I remember that I was in a dark emotional place.
None of them were a waste, because they also represent my struggles in coping with dyspraxia. For many years, I tried to have some structure and routine to my daily life, and in higher education, I had that to a degree, in that I knew I would be in a lecture theatre at 10am on a Monday morning, for example… But they couldn’t account for the never-ending “catch-up”, as I needed more time to complete a task, but had the same 24 hours, which meant making less time for rest, recuperation, self care or sleep, or losing it altogether at the expense of trying to avoid penalties and punishment. The result of that is doing everything else after the first thing at a later time, and tomorrow’s first thing at sub-optimal capacity, later, or both, as I carried yesterday’s exhaustion from one day to the next. It meant that the practice of journaling wasn’t pleasurable. It was mostly reliving trauma, in that I found myself recording bad memories exclusively, keeping receipts of statements or events so that I wouldn’t be gaslit, and a constant drawing of shields to protect my own back. But this felt like trying to master the art of wielding a double-edged sword because on one hand, the receipts helped me to have some clarity and strengthen my case when I had to write an appeal… On the other hand, in my late 20s, I was becoming very aware of the fact that I was depressed, and at that point, I had been for quite a while. The act of writing, of keeping a journal wasn’t a healing experience for me in the emotional or spiritual sense, while physically, I was already experiencing pains from lengthy spells of handwriting, then typing at my laptop. I had taken some yoga classes in 2009, in addition to the Pilates I started in 2008, but found the former quite tough on my joints from time to time, and made the mistake of going straight to writing after the meditation part once I reached home. Put another way, it would take getting to my 40s before I realised that “Resting Is Writing”. Outside of higher education, I had been trying to find a part-time job or some steady work to help me through my course, and the “Job Centres” would send me to appointments in every corner of my city, for jobs which didn’t appear to exist. I couldn’t get the support I needed, and signing at the government death trap was my only option at the time. Eventually, I would have to suspend my studies at various points, before stumbling before the finishing line in my final year, after failing once more to get the support I needed for it.
All of that is to say, and I’m reliving the trauma in the moment right now as I write this, that the practice of journaling has often reminded me of the hurt, rejection, depression and pain of watching my years pass me by, and recalling 20-something years I can never get back has led to sleepless nights, a lot of tears, and grieving for the life I never had, that I couldn’t have, for what might have been, what could have been, what seems lost, and what feels out of reach. I tried to navigate a world that neither sees, nor adapts, nor accommodates for me, spent a lifetime trying to conceal, and make it in this life the so-called “conventional way”, but became the left behind in the process. Trying to explain this to family, extended family and friends isn’t easy, and I’ve been called “dramatic”, accused of “not trying harder or hard enough”, or had my reality downplayed in real time… Most people outside family, those I know and met face-to-face, former classmates or work colleagues, don’t even know that I’m dyspraxic, or that I’ve been writing under a pen name at all. Most see someone who is jobless, or look at my accomplishments on my CV, and tell me they’re astonished that I’m not in (conventional) work. One other thing that’s come with that is the presumption that I “have time”, so, I could be running a list of errands, or watching over something else. I couldn’t possibly be tired because what else do I do all day? The truth is that I haven’t really felt I’ve had anybody to confide in, and at the same time, I’ve probably “overshared” in the wilderness of my blog, or in the occasional online recorded and unrecorded social audio space. I’m somewhat aware that I can be quite raw like that, quite intense, and I imagine that can scare people… but I’ve never really been good at any of this, and what was meant to be a post about receiving a lovely diary has taken all of you wonderful readers down a different spiral.
What became of my failed diaries? I used them to draft my writes and record poetry prompts. The year on the front covers didn’t matter at that point, and neither did the days inside it. I wrote my fourth poem, “Comfort In Sadness” during a public holiday weekend in 2010, on a coach from Manchester to London and back. I wrote “Dreamer’s Siren” in the midst of my disillusion with jobhunting one morning in 2012, after a bad night’s sleep. I had started “Portrait Of Disillusion” in the summer of 2011, then left it untouched for some 18 months, before finishing it during the Holiday Season in 2012. I joined Twitter in 2009, but started using it more frequently in 2010, not long after I first tried my hand with poetry, and I guess microblogging could count as a form of journaling… I hadn’t really considered that. At the start of this year, I became a more active contributor and speaker in journaling spaces on the same site, as well as other topics. So, I guess that would be audio journaling, too… I hadn’t thought about journaling again in the pen and paper sense of the word, or considered my own blog as a form of the practice, until I received this one, but what clicked for me this time was the realisation that I didn’t have to do it every day, and all of these various forms were valid, therefore it could feel more natural. Not sure about video blogging or vlogging, though… I haven’t really felt that I have the face for it, and I don’t feel the camera and I are the best of friends… For the moment, my self-confidence isn’t quite there to do it. I also don’t need to have a lot to report, and I can write word vomits and more mundane stuff… and that’s totally fine because sometimes I don’t have the bandwidth. That could even be necessary before finding the clarity I deserve at this time, and finding my own pearls and diamonds in the dirt. So, We’ll See.
Oooh, and you can find me speaking on Thursday nights from time to time with Kelspiration in journaling spaces!! If you’ve made it to the end of this share, thanks ever so much for visiting my blog and reading. I hope your day will be as kind to you as possible.
x x x x x x x x Love Angel Page. Creative. Dyspraxic. Lots More… 💕✨
