It’s embarrassing to me the way that I pour everything into love. It is the beginning and the end for me, and each thing in between. It’s the only thing I have let consume me entirely. I let it consume me unconditionally. Love fills up my notebooks. It’s all the rage, the only thing I can ever seem to write about. It is a perfect investment. It is a perfect sacrifice. And yet there is so much dark in me and I’m not sure that I believe in love at all. Everything can be explained by self interest, and I can never truly trust myself, and I will never truly trust anyone else.
Published by uuggla
Born in 1996 Over the coming months, I'll be publishing several journal entries a day in chronological order. I began journaling in 2007, when I was eleven years old. Even then I wrote as though I were archiving my life, collecting details about my world. As I grew older, journaling became more of a description of my emotional world. I am an aspiring creative nonfiction writer who is producing very little since graduating college this Spring. But with this unusually thorough account of my entire adolescence, I feel as though I have been given a gift that has been under my nose this whole time. This is a practice in forgiveness and vulnerability. It is also a way to laugh at myself. View all posts by uuggla