Journals are kind of strange.

I’ve kept a journal since I was made to write one for grade 10 English class. I was fifteen. My teacher said that we could mark parts of it private, and he wouldn’t read it. He lied. I know this because he put encouraging remarks on the heartfelt teenage angst that I had marked as private. I had lamented about my small breasts when other girls had wonderful, beautiful breasts (oh, 15 year old me, you silly girl!). I remember feeling conflicted when he handed the journals back and I saw that he had commented … Continue Reading