Today I write my feelings in a journal which isn't always easy for me.  When I was 16, I lived down South with my father and step mother. I was given a diary from my step-mother as a gift. This was exciting because I was extremely shy and writing was a proven outlet for expression.

One day after school I dashed upstairs to purge myself of the latest high school drama. My closet was ransacked and my diary was missing. My heart began to race as I heard footsteps creeping up the staircase. Afraid of the inevitable, I turn around to see my father and step mother waving pages of my hookie adventures with my boyfriend. My mouth dropped open and I felt ashamed. In the back of my mind I wondered if I had anything to feel ashamed about, after all it was a gift, and I was being honest.

From that day on I grew up believing that my thoughts and feelings were dirty, bad, and of little or no significance. Even worse, I kept everything inside and my fear of letting go made me bitter and angry. I experienced cycles of separation,  and isolation, which deepend my pain. I was so envious of my friends and at how easy it was for them to express themselves and be excepted.

Today I write my feelings in a journal which isn't always easy for me.