Pretty much.
diabola in musica
because perfection isn't easy
Recently, I discovered 750 Words, a journalling application made to help clear your mind by writing freely, privately, every day. On a whim, I committed myself to write for the entire month of December. It has only been two days, but I already find the exercise therapeutic. I didn’t realize how much anxiety I was holding back about my life and about writing about my life. Though I am open about many things, such as my sex life, I am still very hesitant to write openly about many others. I am terrified that if I reveal too much, people will see me a little too clearly and they will be terrified by what they see.
Anxieties aside, I do recommend the site for frequent journalers. Paper journals can be a hassle to carry around (especially if you misplace them, get new ones, and then find the old ones), but if you are connected to the Internet most of the time like I am, 750 Words is a great option for you.
The best part? The site automatically analyzes your writing with pretty charts! Perfect for self-involved anxious writers and gluttonous data nerds like me.
La Nuit S’ouvre, L’orage
I laughed. I had heard the joke before, and there were many variations. It’s hard to be depressed about cognitive dysfunction when you don’t remember that you have it. There’s no need to worry because I will forget what’s there to worry about. Family, friends, medical professionals, and even I had quipped about my condition, but these days I prefer not to mention the TBI. I am meeting too many people too often, and I too easily forget who I have told.
The story was engaging, not for its whodunit thriller but for its haunting familiarity. Written as a piecemeal stream-of-consciousness, those words I could have written years ago when I was more aware of my disability in my everyday life, when I was still fighting for my mind, when I was so desolate at my loss. The harsh shifts in mood and mental clarity were pages from my own journal. The uncomfortable mix of sly wit and social detachment was reflected in my mirror. The profound disintegration of a knowing mind was a glimpse into my possible future.
Writing helps. Writing helps me focus, and shape these amorphous thoughts into a concrete chronicle. Writing helps me remember, not just details of the narrative but character of the narrator, every single day.