How much do you confide in your journal?

When I was younger I had a journal. I kept nothing back in it. It was 100% honest but impulsive and therapeutic at the same time. I put anything and everything inside but it was passing thoughts and frustrations that didn’t really carry weight after the moment. It was a way to get out aggressions and irrational thinking before I spoke it out loud or got stressed out. Unfortunately, a couple of years afterward it was found. Long story made short: I don’t keep a journal at all anymore. I’ve found different ways to vent my frustrations.

I have an anonymous blog. There is nothing on it except my gender, my sexual orientation, and a bit of health information. My nationality and whereabouts are unknown.

A dedicated hacker could find me, but I’m not worried. Hopefully, they have better things to hack.

I tell almost everything that is going on in my life to this blog. I don’t mention what I ate for lunch, but I go into great detail about the ups and downs of my life.

However, I don’t write daily. I write a few times each week.

I kept one while I was in my teens, and I held nothing back. All of my thoughts and misdeeds were included. I saved it for many years, but as my girls started to grow up, I re-read it, and realized I’d be horrified if they ever found it. It was summarily destroyed.

I confide a lot of things. I think it would be unhealthy to keep something that’s bothering me bottled up. I pretty much write everything. When I had a really bad crush on someone who led me on but never returned my feelings, my journal was my savior, because I didn’t want to talk about my feelings to anybody else. I filled two whole notebooks on that guy, but I never actually wrote his name. I just called him “he”, “him”, etc. Now I have very little to confide in my journal, although I’d love to start writing in mine again.

I have one, have had it for the past 10 years. I don’t really write common entries though. While it’s a book to take notes on various things, or just doodle in, there are ’‘entries’’, but I mostly write everything in a way that it only makes sense to me, and would be gibberish to anybody else. Some of it sounds like failed Victorian poems about vampires, for example. Sometimes I just draw, like when a pet of mine died, I didn’t write anything about it, I just made a drawing of him. It’s just that if someone takes a peek, I don’t really want them to understand. It feels good expressing myself, but it’s only for me and fuck everyone else. :D
It’s not that I wouldn’t want to share anything really, just that being all honest like that with myself would make me feel vulnerable if someone saw it.
It’s got so much crap in it though, and only a few pages left. Thing is falling apart too. Need a new one, but not until this one is full. (although in the past years I’ve been neglecting it a lot, if I wrote/doodled in it as much as I did before, it would be filled up by now) But it’s been with me ever since I moved to this province, storing it away is gonna make me feel sad, I just know it haha.

I used to. I am worried about my journals being found… Again. Not worth the risk for me. I just keep a lot of private stuff inside until I see my therapist, or talk to my boyfriend… depending what it is.