A Map of Myself

I kept a diary at the time. It was the only way to keep track of all the changes inside me. Emotions were squirming like worms, weaving themselves into new forms in the fibres of my being. Heartstrings were tangling and untangling, growing out from my body and grasping hold of things out in the world. New feelings were surging through me. Writing things down was the only way to make sense of things, to avoid confusion. 

Each evening I would document the events of the day, and then bring everything into focus. If I had not done this I am sure I would have drowned, drowned under the weight of the new sensations and ideas. 

It was as if I had to create a map of myself, and each day different sections of it would be drawn into clearer focus. Here is a mountainous region, forested, with snow-capped peaks and hidden, overgrown temples. There is a desert region, pocked with oases. There are the whale roads of the ocean, and HERE BE DRAGONS!

It was, I suppose you could say, a diary of discovery. I was the explorer of myself, and what greater expedition could be undertaken than an inner one, into the uncharted realms within.

The diary was a map which helped me to find my way, to avoid becoming lost within myself. Each day I added to my knowledge and found new paths to traverse. Each day there was a new landscape to behold, a new vista was lit up with dawn or faded into obscurity with dusk. Each day was an adventure.


(A piece developed from a Writers’ Group prompt from a year ago, using a first line taken at random from a book.)