Journal

I started a journal shortly after filing for divorce. My therapist suggested it. I thought it was a good idea, although I had not had success with journals in the past.

When I was in high school, I found out that my brother had been reading my journal. I realize now that it was all teenage moanings about how unpopular, uncool and nerdy I was. But it was significant to me at the time.

I've never been good at putting my true feelings down. Mostly because I've been afraid that my feelings would hurt someone if they read it. Who doesn't have a right to their feelings? And who isn't occasionally annoyed with family and friends, particularly when you live with them?

So with lots of trepidation, I started a journal. My Mom and I went to the bookstore and I picked out a black leather one. It was a fine looking book ready for all my thoughts and dreams. I felt that I might learn something about myself, seeing my feelings down on paper.

I wrote in it for about a month, pretty religiously. I was devoted to the idea of self help through expression. One night, I sat down and read it all, marveling at how far I'd come in just a short time, reliving some of the painful moments I'd experienced in 30 days, and feeling as if I'd done some growing. The next night, I went to write and the journal was gone.

I panicked. I called my mother, who helped me retrace every step I'd taken since I'd last seen the journal. I panicked some more when I realized that not only was it was nowhere to be found, but I had written some things that could be considered hurtful about Nemo and also some things that I didn't want him to know.

I knew that Nemo had taken it. No one else had been in our house, there were no other suspects. I tried calling him on the phone, and of course, there was no answer. (he never answered my calls when he was with Elvira.)

I spent a long time on the phone with my mother, talking through the things I had written, trying to figure out if there was something in it that could have made Nemo angry or violent. At that point, I was scared of him.

I felt violated. Like my soul was naked. The one person in the entire world that I hadn't wanted to see what I had written had read my words. Worse, he stole them. I felt very unsafe. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I was so panicked and anxious that I couldn't sleep that night.

I later confronted Nemo. Of course, he denied everything. (I had also been keeping a calendar tracking where he was and how much time he had spent with Lucian, and he took that also.) He claimed to know nothing about the journal or the calendar. Acted like I was the crazy one.

Everytime I asked, he would repeat - I took nothing from the house. Even under oath, he swore that he hadn't taken it.

This blog has been hard for me to write. Not the writing itself, that part comes easy. I've got enough stories to last for years. (and all true!) It's putting myself out there that's hard. At the same time, I want to share what has happened to me, and how it's affected my life.

If I give it away, it can never be stolen.