An artist with words.

Ok so I don't write. I never have been able to keep a journal, and the idea of a regular blog (every single day, that is) is a feat I can't handle.

Art is my thing. Drawing, painting, photography, creating. THAT'S where it's at for me.


However.

Due to the fact that my life has decided to become a bramble of crap (through no fault of anyone) as of late, It has made my bipolar and my father's bipolar run rampant. The anti-anxiety medication isn't controling it like it usually does when I'm lessed stressed and the Lexipro backup I have gives me kidney infections.

Where does this leave me?

I bought a freaking journal.

That's right. I, Joanna Kathleen Biggers Buttersworth (little inside joke there with Jeremy. Bex will get it) Hanson is going to keep a damned journal.

I'm going to use it too, seeing how I picked out the one that actually SPOKE to me (weird, huh?) and it cost 12 freaking bucks.

If anything Ill fill it with the words "I don't know what to write" over and over again, for 12 bucks.

And some change. 32 cents I believe.

And it's beautiful. And for me only. I've already filled three pages. Some lines don't make sense, or wouldn't to anyone but me. Some i wrote and went "Why did i write that? thats stupid." A few were painful, but helped.

This way when I'm angry, or feeling unloved, or unappreciated, instead of screaming at the wrong person, I can scream in the journal. Better way to control my emotions. Noone can read it, and I can't regret it later :)