Dear Diary Essay

1395 WordsOct 5, 20106 Pages
For as long as I can remember I loved to write. Growing up, from about the time I could remember, I would write and write all day every day. I would write about everything that happened in my life. I wrote about when I fell at recess and hurt my knee, I wrote about my new boyfriend and I wrote about the recent fight between me and my best friend. I loved to write short stories, poetry and also in my personal journals or diaries. It was my dream to one day become a great author and have a book published. I would write about my feelings and thoughts, my hopes and dreams, my fears and nightmares. I loved to write about things that were occurring between my friends and family. In every one of my journals I would talk about the relationships in my life, I wrote about my parents, friends, and secret crushes. Writing began to be a means of escape for me, to be able to get my deepest feelings out. Writing allowed me to articulate my thoughts and feelings, and to release what I was feeling inside without having to let someone else know my secrets. As I got older, I wrote more and more. I began saving all of the writing I was doing, in something I liked to identify as my Memory Box. I would save all of these memories not just to be able to one day look back and remember my childhood, but also in hopes that in the future my children could look back and be able to see who I was as a young lady. My memory box was very important to me. It wasn’t your standard sized box either. This box was tremendously large. It held all of my most precious possessions, my journals and diaries, my pictures of friends and family and all of my poetry and short stories. By the time I was about sixteen years old I had almost entirely filled my box with pages of my mind. I would write when I came home from school, I would write before going to bed and would write about the dreams I had when I
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