I Hate Journaling Novels & Stories

I decided to text Rue: “Hey” Seen. I frowned. “I’m sorry, I was shitty, can I make it up to you?” Seen. I couldn’t blame her. I set my phone aside and stared at the ceiling, feeling hollow and restless. I was bored. “Oou… I can always journal,” I said aloud, the idea strange, almost foreign. I couldn’t remember ever journaling, yet I knew… I always had. I just didn’t remember it. It was sad, realizing fractions of my life were locked away somewhere in my mind, unreachable, leaving me feeling like a ghost in my own history.

"How do you know?" "Because I've been doing it too. Every day. Choosing to stay when I want to run. Choosing to call when I want to hide." A pause. "It gets easier. Not easy. Easier." "What if I can't do it?" "Then you try again tomorrow." --- On the fifth day, I write my own journal. Not confessions. No apologies. Just... observations. About the city. About the people I see. About the woman I left behind.

I hated my body for reacting. Hated him more for noticing. “I hate you,” I whispered, voice shaking with conviction. His smile was slow and dangerous. “Perfect. Keep hating me, wife. It’s the only thing stopping me from doing something we’d both regret.” He pushed off the wall and headed toward the kitchen, leaving me flushed, furious, and far too aware of every inch of my body that still tingled from his proximity. One year in hell. One year of pretending to love the man I wanted to destroy.

That night, I remember slamming my bedroom door shut, dragging out my diary, and writing furiously under the lamp: “I hate this guy. I hate his face, his stupid voice, his stupid confidence. Can someone get me out of here? This is hell. Dad ruined everything.” The words bled so heavy on the page I nearly tore the paper through. --- Back on the couch now, I let out a breathy laugh remembering it. “I actually wrote in my diary that night that I hated you. I said you were the worst thing Dad ever brought into my life.”

And now I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I reached for my journal—not the thick one with heavy covers and an expensive pen clipped to the side. The other one. The cheap one I got a month that still had so many blank pages, mostly because I’d stopped writing the moment everything in my life turned sideways. I didn’t want to process. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to deal with what I was really thinking because I knew if I put it in ink, it would become real. But tonight felt different.

I pulled on a gray T-shirt and went back to my bed, where I stayed most of the time. Ever since Julian had taken over my schedule, I didn’t care about anything anymore. I didn’t have the motivation to do anything, other than wallowing in my misery. Writing poems and filming used to be my escape from reality, but now, I found it hard to focus on them, without Karyna plaguing my mind. I have done literally everything I love doing with her, and now I blame myself for it. Speaking of which, my eyes fell on the sleek black journal that sat on the nightstand. I’ve been avoiding opening the book but now, I suddenly feel drawn to it.

|Rican| I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the stupid game that had taken over my mind. Enduring conversations with her, plastering on a smile, and pretending to be interested in her mindless ideas for spending time—it's all a form of torture. Why the hell did I even start this nonsense game? I sat at the bar with James whereas his eyes were going from one girl to another, barely listening my words. Here I’s frustrated only because I had stupidly agreed with his idea but it seemed like he had no interest to listening them.

I just have to focus on the here and now and right now all I can think of is how much I hate him. Looking down, I see the pile of journals I have scattered on the bed with some still in the box. Picking up one of them, I know I need to distract myself from these thoughts at least for now. Ingrid’s diaries will give me a window into her life and maybe this is what I need to drown myself in for the next few hours. I open it up and the first thing I notice is her beautiful handwriting, her penmanship is so elegant. Dear Journal This is my first entry into you since I learned how to write.

My laptop sat on the kitchen island before, I stared at the screen intently as I watched a preview of my favorite TV series, The Vampire Diaries, I really couldn't get enough of Damon Salvatore but my heart really aches for Stefan Salvatore, no grudges, I just loved Stefab a little more. My journal and planner sat next to my laptop along with my pencils, highlighters and markers. Whenever I wasn't doing what my family wanted, I tried to at least have some peace in my mind and heart, I just had to. So I journaled, I write in the morning, the aftertoon and before bed, it's been a routine for a while a while now, something I picked up in middle school.

His city friends surrounded him, she could almost hear their laughter and shouting having so much fun at a party she wasn't even told about. "Shit!" she said to herself and decided to turn off her phone. It was adding more problems to her night. She turned to her desk instead. Saw her face in the mirror with tears still wet on her cheeks. She pulled out her drawer and took her journal where she can say anything and everything her heart desired. 'I hate everyone!' was the first sentence she wrote. She felt betrayed by the people closest to her. 'What a horrible day it turned out to be.' 'Lee just broke up with me.' And at that last sentence, she broke down and cried again.