Let's Look at Journal Entries - Marinating
Date: April 15, 2025 Location: Seattle, USA Local Weather: 13°C (55°F), dreary rain, gray skies pressing down
Dear Diary,
It’s me, sitting in this Seattle apartment, listening to the rain tap against the window like it’s trying to get in. The weather matches how I feel—soggy, heavy, stuck. Today, I keep thinking about that fight with Mom ten years ago, the one where she said I’d never amount to anything. I was 16, and it cut so deep I still feel the sting. Why does it keep coming back? I want to heal from it, so I’m writing this to figure out why I’m still so broken.
I cried this morning—again—because I can’t shake the feeling that she was right. I look at my life, this cramped space, my dead-end barista job, and it’s like I’m proving her point. I keep replaying her words, trying to understand why they hurt so much. Was it her anger or my shame? I just want to let it go, but the more I dig into it, the louder it gets. Maybe if I keep writing, I’ll find some peace—like this is my safe space to unravel it all. Tomorrow, I’ll try harder to forgive her. Or myself.
Yours, lost in the drizzle,
J.
Date: April 16, 2025 Location: Seattle, USA Local Weather: 14°C (57°F), patchy fog, a damp chill that seeps into everything
Dear Diary,
Another gray day in Seattle, fog curling around the streets like it’s hiding something. I feel that way too—clouded, murky. Last night, I couldn’t sleep, just kept thinking about Dad leaving when I was 8. I’ve been trying to process it, to feel it fully so I can move on. Why didn’t he stay? Was I too much—too loud, too needy? I wrote about it for an hour, every detail I could remember: his coat by the door, the sound of the car engine fading. It’s supposed to help, right? Reflecting like this, getting it out.
But now it’s all I see—his back walking away, and me, small and useless, watching. I thought writing would lift the weight, but it’s heavier today. My chest hurts, and I’m mad at myself for still caring. I want to be stronger, to heal from this abandonment, but the more I pick at it, the more it festers. Maybe I need to go deeper, figure out what I did wrong. This is my space to fix it, so I’ll keep trying. I have to.
Climing Out of the Fog,
J
Date: April 17, 2025 Location: Seattle, USA Local Weather: 12°C (54°F), relentless drizzle, wind rattling the panes
Dear Diary,
Seattle’s rain won’t quit today, and neither will my head. It’s pounding, like the past is knocking to be let in. I’ve been thinking about that summer after high school, when Sarah cut me off—my best friend, gone, just like that. I keep writing about it to heal, to understand why I wasn’t enough for her. Was I too clingy? Too broken already? I can still feel the silence after her last text, the way it gutted me. I thought reflecting would help me let go, but it’s like I’m living it again.
I sat here all morning, pen shaking, trying to process why I keep losing people. Mom’s words, Dad’s exit, Sarah’s ghost—they’re all tangled up in me, and the more I write, the tighter the knot gets. I’m supposed to find clarity, but I just feel raw, like I’m bleeding onto the page. This is my safe place, though, so I’ll keep going—digging into the hurt until it makes sense. I want to be whole again, not this mess. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see the light.
Yours, soaked and sinking,
J