I looked through my pen-and-ink journal today, and read the entry from right after my meltdown. It's seventeen pages long. All I could think of, flipping through it, was 'holy hell, I wrote this?' It's beautiful and painful, and there are phrases in there that I can't believe came from my head. That I can't believe are a first draft, as rough as they can be. It doesn't read like I was writing it for myself, though I certainly didn't have the intention of ever showing it to anyone else.
I think that I like the way I put words together.
I've never re-read any of my private journals before, but it's a practice that I may cultivate.