I’ve been attempting to get anxious and depressed thoughts out of my brain since the moment I first had them. I have tried poetry, songwriting, and stream of consciousness writing, among other things. Any sort of subset of keeping a journal, and I’ve tried it. None of it has worked.
I used to blame the act itself, but I’ve since realized that it is my brain that is the problem. As soon as I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, my unhealthy-brain begins telling me that I’m not good enough.
“That is the dumbest phrase I have ever heard.”
“It’s not that bad.”
A journal is supposed to be your most sacred belonging, one in which you are your most transparent, honest, and brutal self. I can never get there.
You see, take the words out, and my brain shuts the hell up. I can expel as much anxiety as I can, display my darkest emotions, and be productive. I can leave these things behind and not feel any misplaced shame. This, my friends, is the beauty of the art journal.
Give it a shot– just one page of collage or painting or drawing or whatever else you can think of that gets you out of your own head. Need a little help? Check this out.