I am sitting in my room. A collection of colorful journals, all different sizes, takes up 2 shelves on my well organized bookcase. I am brainstorming a new class. I scan the shelves, wishing the wisdom of the journals would leap into some structured form of a curriculum.
I know the pages are full of lessons. That's my life sitting on those shelves. That's my trauma trickling through the lines on each page. Those are my celebrations shining through each uniquely decorated book. That's me, waiting to be shared with you.
At first I am simply staring at them, admiring the swirls of blue, the frayed edges of that one from college, the newness of the one I haven't opened yet. I want to hear those stories again. After staring at them for long enough, it's as if they called to me. I walk across the room and randomly pick one to read....
December 26, 2012
There is stillness beneath all of my pain and heart-wrenching fear beating out of my chest and blood flowing through my veins....there is stillness. I can't do this alone. I have tried to walk through hell alone. I have kept myself hidden, (as if one could really hide a train wreck!).
The rest of the entry goes on about the time I was in an actual car wreck and my face was bruised and full of shards of glass. My brother showed up to the emergency room and immediately started laughing, asking, "Meg, have you seen your face?" He got me a mirror, as if I couldn't feel the pain already. Now he wants me to stare into the bloody mess of it. But his laughter is making me laugh. And that makes my face hurt even more. I knew I would be ok. He knew I would be ok. And so we laughed through the pain.
Sometimes memories come flooding back to me randomly. Sometimes I pick up an old journal to remind me of how far I have come, how much I still have to learn and how much wisdom there is to be gleaned from a life on paper.