I was initially going to post this on a thread about venting, but I felt it might be worthy of a blog post.
Many years ago, I put myself into therapy; I was unable to handle life on life's terms. I was angry, bitter, hated the world and held resentments and grudges for the smallest of slights that had mentally grown from molehills to mountains in my head, over time. These were grudges that other's had forgotten about, but were still stealing time from me and chipping away at me.
For years I was embarrassed about telling people I went to see a therapist, but someone, far smarter than I said, think about it as a workout. People go to the gym to exercise physically; you go to a therapist to work out mentally.
One of the tools I was given from my head doctor was journaling, I use it as measuring stick and a coping mechanism, I journal every day. I write about everything that happens in my journals, how people made me feel, how people responded to me in social media, emails, meetings, text messages. Journaling helps me try to see the other side on a lot of things, and how I was wrong, or how my intent might have been misconstrued.
Everything I want to say to people, but can't, I say to them in written form in the journal. It is catharsis; I am free to write whatever I want and wish I could have said, then I generally feel a lot better and move on if I'm unable to move on, it is something I bring up in my next therapy session. There is a direct correlation on the amount of time I spend writing and the amount of time I spend with my therapist. When I write more, I spend less time in therapy.
When the journal is finished, I burn it and start a new. The journals exist for me and my sanity only. I have no delusions, and I am not Marcus Aurelius journaling late into the night trying to resolve mighty head of state issues. I'm a fractured human trying to be a better person, one painfully written page at a time.