Open Journal #1

here is a pilot of the first entry, i am working on turning the whole thing into a podcast. This a rough mix. The majority is recorded i am just working on mixing and production. just press play

i thought i might try this and see how it goes. First day here someone suggested i keep a journal and i pointed out as i wasn’t a girl it seemed an unlikely thing to happen. The internalising aspect bothered me, why would i want to talk to or address myself, i know nothing and understand less. I know i can’t help myself, i’ve tried for years and have barely made it this far.

This place has something i have never seen before, people who understand and are willing to explore and discuss. So why not take advantage and see what we find, if the idea bores you move on and leave me to my mumblings.

In among the falling leaves of ideas and the squabbling and the soaring screams of anguish we might learn some stuff. I might learn some stuff. What’s the point of all this soul searching if nothing changes. So i thought i will treat it like an open letter, addressed to nobody and read by whoever.

Of course we have the added bonus that you guys have already created a framework where you can comment and debate and squabble and disagree. You do it with kindness and you support and you listen.

So this is my open journal. It might be every day for a week, be two pages or three, it might be a few lines, it might have nothing for three days. I am a human, i’m fickle and I go where the wind takes me.

i just had this thought process this morning, it was 3am so more the dead of the night really, where all the proper thinking occurs.

i realised that since i had disclosed my abuse that people in my work and friends and my family have all silenced me in a hundred ways. They probably didn’t mean to, they possibly would be horrified if they knew but it still happened.

You summon up the courage to say something because you feel that maybe people are forgetting that people like you exist and in some small way to get them considered. There is an impatience in the room as you sense that half the room desperately wants to move on and get off this slightly awkward subject, so you stumble to a hastily convened ending. You lower your expectations of this group of people and make a note that it didn’t really achieve what you wanted it to and now those people from the other office know about your abuse as well.

You draw a breath, summon all your courage and explain that things are ok in your life but as a survivor you have had your challenges recently. later alone in bed, hoping your feet will get warm eventually you remember the moment her eyes had a definite look of panic in them, just as the r at the end of the word survivor faded away on your lips. No matter, she was a cousin on your mothers side who always annoyed you anyway.

You had tried to explain before but it was worth another go. Oliver was a good friend and as far as you remembered had always been supportive and understanding. ‘It’s not the people or even the place’ you say trying to explain as Oliver piles sandwiches onto the plate, ‘it’s the noise and because of the abuse i find it hard …’ his eyes narrow and with almost a snarl he walks away and open the fridge door ‘are you ever going to get over that?’ No probably not, you think to yourself as you quietly exit the room and Oliver carries on struggling with a cake that any second is going to end up on the floor

Nobody means to, nobody plans it. A hundred ways that teach you to stay silent and just keep going. i can’t be the only one, we must have all have experienced those moments.

svf