Are you doing any Journalling?

Once upon a time, during a particularly horrible time in my life, I was asked, "Are you doing any journalling?"

I think the idea was that, if I was journalling, it would give me an outlet. But I knew better. If I journalled, I would have a record of what was going on: how I was feeling, what was happening to me, etc.

So, "No - I'm not," I responded, "I don't want to remember what this feels like."

Every once in awhile I'm reminded of what that time was like, and still I'm glad I didn't journal my way through it. Sometimes the forgetting is important. But the limited remembering is nice, because it gives me perspective. "You see?" the Remembering says to me, "you've grown!"

Last night I finally saw "The Constant Gardener" for the first time, and I really liked it (I can always tell how much I like a movie by whether or not I watch the "extra features" on the DVD. If I REALLY like it, I'll rewatch the whole thing with the Director's commentary).

There's a scene where Ralph Fienne's character is back in London - at the house owned by his recently murdered wife, and all the memories of their former joyous life come flying back at him. His grief overcomes him (or more probably, kicks its way through his masculine facade) and plasters his face and fist up against the window, wracked in his sobbing.

And I thought, "you know - if he collapsed on the ground right now that would totally be me like 4 years ago..."

I'm glad I didn't write it down, but I'm glad I can remember sometimes.