Everything is going to be all WRITE

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Allowing my feelings to flow through my pen has always been my therapy. My hospital journals often have unfinished sentences as I drifted off to sleep under the blanket of pain meds. But always, they are a place where I can spill unfiltered and later reflect when I am well. During a therapeutic weekend of de-cluttering, I pulled out my journal pile and re-read some of my hospital prose. For those of you who are still in that place, it may help to know that I am not there anymore, but I do understand it deeply. Here is one I wrote while under the recovery sheets.

Whole

There’s a hole there that could swallow me up if I let it.

  If I looked

I am not whole anymore,

  my energy leaks like a cold sweep of wind.

I am exposed there,

  no one I can express this to but these pages.

Pen dips into my rages and sooths my limitless ache.

Not arms and legs gone, but part of myself.

Forever bandaged, never to see sunshine and light, and air.

Wisps of motion, tenderly folded and tucked,

  I am displayed under white sheets amidst shudders of pain.

Coming and going, they contend for my side,

My insides are layed out and leaking,

  I wonder what they want.

Streams of visitors,

  dumbfounded and waiting for me to make them comfortable, even laugh.

Silence and sunshine are mine when no one is here.

I am alone with my pain and new wardrobe.

I am encased and submissive, swallowed up my by insecurity

Shivering with this boastful, smiling courage as I falsely move on.

The songs are silent now and I wonder how many more of my parts will go

  can be taken

My legs will carry me and my arms will reach up,

  my voice will sound the same.

My essence is contained within this body’s shield,

  inside this gasoline shimmering shell

A matchstick could ignite my fury, my sorrow,

  my aching longing to sun my belly just one more time.

Journal with nostalgia and move towards better days

During my time in the hospital, or when I was ill, I often found myself writing about my pain or fears in my journal. Sometimes just getting the words down on paper feels better – for me, it always does. I have always been a journal keeper, and love the feel of a fresh journal in my hands. 

Recently I spent the day at the Seattle Folklife Festival, wandering around enjoying great music, food and checking out all the crafty crafts of the local artisans. I met a delightful journal maker named Jacob in his booth teeming with funky journals made from old books.  It was a bonanza of nostalgia and I dove in searching for books from my childhood and laughing at covers from the 60s and 70s.

About the journals
EACH JOURNAL IS UNIQUE, as in one of a kind. they are all made from recycled book covers and because of it each one is a different size.  Inside the front cover and throughout every book Jacob has retained any beautiful cover pages, illustrations, library cards, maps, inscriptions, or what-have-you found in the book (they find all kinds of beautiful stuff in these old books). and it’s all held together with a black plastic spiral.

There is something so pleasing, I cannot explain it. They are delightful and I couldn’t get enough. Take a look at the amazing selection and find a surprise inside. I chose “The I Hate to Housekeep Book” and to my delight chapter 11 was left in. Chapter 11: How to Look As Good As the Lord Intended. It’s classic! Take a look at the other gems Jacob has at bookjournals.com and get journalling. Before you know it, you’ll be feeling better too.