My name is Allison and I have a journal.
Actually I have about 5 journals, with the first one dating back to 2004.
As a freshman in high school I apparently decided that writing down the deepest, darkest parts of me that any stranger (heaven forbid my mother) could find and read was a brilliant idea. The journey began haphazardly one night with a purple pen and a small spiral notebook that stayed hidden in between my mattress and box spring. And thus, the files were born.
As adolescent Allison’s passions exploded, so did her command of the words she used to describe them. Sometimes I miss the girl not terrified at what emerged from her green gel pen. She wrote with honesty and raw emotion, with abandon and sincerity.
It is from this wild eyed, scheming girl that I now can re-learn my life lessons over and over again.
On days I forget a little bit of who I am and where my lanky teenage Allison wanted her adult self to go, these scribbled thoughts remind me. You, sweet stranger, just stumbled upon my stories. They are full of my problems, my God, and my feeble human attempts at understanding where the two exist in my ever changing world. Here’s to twelve more years….
Welcome to the Alli files. Just don’t tell my mother where they’re hiding.