I kept and destroyed many journals. I only ever felt compelled to write when there was some sorrow to share. This had the unintended effect of causing me to remember the bad times more frequently while forgetting the good moments between. I don’t want to let them define my life, but I am not in a place where I have enough joys to fill a page. I would like to keep one, maybe when I am a different person. For now I would like to forget the person I am.