little bitty girl

Journals are very intriguing things. They capture one's thoughts and hopes, they allow us to pour endless streams of consciousness onto paper and are the ultimate, silent, unjudging friend. They have been around for as long as the written word has existed and from many of them, we have learnt about the lives of those who have gone before us. That being said, do journals contain the ultimate truths about its author?

That is the question that I have been asking myself lately after having a conversation with a friend, who feels that his journal contains the ultimate truth about him. I disagree with his point as I believe that we can never really know ourselves. People have very many layers within themselves, parts of which we only reveal to certain people. I have a theory that we are all puzzles and everyone that we know or have encountered contains a tiny piece. Only when all the pieces are together, can we truly see the whole picture of a person.

I have had a journal since I was a little girl. I am always quite sad that the journals of my childhood no longer exist as I would love to know what my view of my world was. I remember bits and pieces of them, boys that I had crushes on or stories that I would write to amuse myself. I remember my mother had found one of them and instead of pretending she had not read it, had decided to go through them and correct my grammar and spelling. I guess the school teacher in her simply couldn't resist.

Then there were the very emotionally drawn out entries of my teenage years. Oh, the anguish I felt in those years. There is nothing quite as dramatic as teenage angst. I am constantly amazed when I've looked back at some entries, how something so trifling could spawn so many pages. Parts of me are impressed by the very brief moments of lucidity in my thoughts. However, I am aware that most of my writing contained my own personal view of reality at the time. Many times, entries would only be written when I was feeling high emotion whether it be anger or joy. There were never many entries of the in between.

Which then makes me think that if someone who did not know me, and then read my diary will come to the conclusion that I am the moodiest person in the world or schizophrenic. Trust me, I am neither. That all being said, it's made me come to the conclusion that whenever I've read the unabridged journals of someone famous, to never take it at face value. The truth, many times lies within many other people who hold the pieces.