Is your diary honest?

Half my journal entries are meta entries about journal writing, whether it shapes it's content or if it creates it and how I feel about writing a journal, the other half are stupid shit like If you want to be honest in your journal, you can start by writing what you just typed and explore why you can or won't be honest in it.
The trick is to have no expectations of quality for it.

Do you fear the denbts?

Why be all literary "detached narrator" in a diary? Just write more naturally and honestly like "I saw a dead cat today and I felt no sympathy for it because I'm an edgelord who suppresses all emotion. Also, Rorsach from Watchmen is my idol."

I wrote about it because it was the highlight of my day. I try to capture a piece of my day in each entry.
The other entries include exciting stories like 'me packing up my suitcase' and 'watched a movie with my uni film club'.
It's a sad journal but I write it to remember things.

I see, so it's more observational in a sense. I just feel like you should include more about how you felt because that would help you learn more about yourself, but that's your prerogative. Thanks for sharing anyway.

From my journal (selected at random):

>4/11. 3:44PM. Thought in the shower: Maybe I'm not the smartest person, and maybe I'll never be the best writer, but I will be a writer. Today I woke up at noon via the alarm, but I hit the snooze and didn't actually get out of bed until 12:20, fifteen minutes before the bus is scheduled to arrive. Washed my face because it was orange and shiny, and did various other things until I checked my phone again and it was 12:32. Shit. Shit. Grabbed my things frantically and left, but thinking: the bus is always a few minutes late anyway. Of course, it was on time today, and I made it just in time. Listened to Animal Collective's Strawberry Jam on the bus. I sat in the front, on the left side (looking at the back) against the window. A transparent divider was right in front of me and I could see my reflection in it. Didn't look too bad, I thought. I began to check out the girls as they got on the bus. Then I shut my eyes because I got only three hours sleep. Had them shut for a few moments and when I opened them again I saw my reflection: my eyes were heavy and bloodshot and my skin was bad. I decided to just close my eyes for the rest of the trip, listening to the music. Arrived on campus. Went to the library. Read Veeky Forums on my phone. Somebody responded negatively to a post I made about effort and resignation (favoring effort), so I tried to reply to him but I was so tired I knew I wasn't the same person who wrote the post seven hours earlier, wide awake and focused, and I deleted my first attempt. I replied with something short and to the point, then saw it was 1:02 and made my way to class. Prof lectured about post-colonialism. I struggled to pay attention. I kept reminding myself about my ideals about effort. For the first time - normally I don't do this - I browsed the Internet on my phone while he lectured. Hope he didn't notice, he likes me. After class, in keeping with Effort, I walked home instead of taking the bus. When I got back I listened to some rap while doing exercises, then got in the shower.

From the same day:

>11:14PM. Napped until 9:30PM. Woke up extremely happy. I think I must have been biting my tongue, releasing the brain's natural painkillers. I should say I finally got up at 9:30, but I'd been drifting in and out of sleep for a few hours, tossing and turning. I'd had some vivid dreams and I woke up wanting to write about them. At the same time, though, I felt the pitiful inadequacy of words, a feeling that's faded somewhat, as the memory of the dreams have dimmed. I dreamed that I was outside my apartment, at night, and there were people around, partying, having fun, and I was looking at the night sky. I saw a white glowing cylinder in the sky, must have been a plane, and it turned around very smoothly and gracefully, like a bird, and started going the other way. Then it turned back, tracing a rectangle. Then I saw an enormous blimp right above us, low in the sky, but it was ghostly and transparent. Then the sun came out, but it didn't turn night into day, the black sky to blue, the sky remained black, the sun was just like an enormous flashlight trained on the planet. I said, "You know how the moon sometimes appears during the day? Well now the sun has come out at night." Then I noticed the sky was filled with the convex side of a green and blue Earth-like planet. Somebody said, "We can't be on Earth, because that's Earth!" It looked like the cover of a sci-fi novel or a New Age poster, the planet was so vast and close. It was awe-inspiring. I woke up with a kind of beautiful otherworldly serenity that's since faded. A cosmic, powerful contentment that maybe only babies feel. I was glad to be alive, the universe was good, and I felt love. Must have been the endorphins.

I only write about how many times i fapped in a day and what anime i watch.

>I only write about how many times i fapped in a day
patrician desu

i'm up to 141 this year
and that's while trying to fap as little as possible

...

What do the numbers on the far right represent?

I would guess consecutive days without masturbating.

wow, I'm dumb

And I thought I'm alone!

(violet is faps, red and pink is sex)

If you're so far into this regular "character," what makes the "real" you different from a regular person?

I've tried to keep a diary, but what's the point of writing out such minutiae from your daily life? I'd never read that shit again.

Writing practice + read it years down the line and see who you were and what you did.

I used to average 3 a day. I peaked at 4 sometimes.

What's the difference between red and pink?

Fair point about writing practice I guess, but it's not like, "I sat on the bus and listened to Animal Collective. I felt kind of hungry, and then I went to work," is practice that's worth anything. I like the Greek guy's approach a bit more. And as I said, I'd never read that shit again, even years later.

29/12/13
>All these words don't mean a thing. None of them have been published and every passing day feels as if they never will. The pressing realization that I am a failure and always will be is becoming more and more appearent.

2 days before new years eve..I thought I was miserable now but in comparison, I think I am a lot happier.

Somewhat. I do it day to day and in that sense it's honest since whenever I try to remember something that happened months ago, it's filtered through my sensibilities to a more sanitized or melodramatic version depending on my current mood/circumstance.
I don't document my porn habits and that's a fault due to my embarrassment. If I did include it, I'd probably try to document my infatuations with porn stars, because god knows how I have them, rather than take a more documentary approach like the color-coded calendar above.

As honest as Socrates defense speech.

Not the poster here but
>"what makes the "real" you different from a regular person?"

I fear this sometimes, the idea that it's not me who's putting up barriers to appear as if i'm a regular person, but rather the opposite,

>i am become normie

Mi, Is, Sa, Ma, Ne and now Sil
are Miranda, Isabella, ...

>he's had sex with multiple people

fucking normie scum

>Dead bird on porch today. Ate chicken nuggets. Boring day.

I don't write about what happens in my day, only what thoughts I thunk and dreams I drunk, because nothing interesting ever happens, happened, or is likely to happen.

Imagined being introduced to someone at a party and I would think I was in high form with ceaseless banter and jokes, they would bring the conversation to a halt for a moment and say 'Come on, can't you be serious and sincere for once?"
So I would clasp their hand in mine, look into their eyes, and say
"I don't think we're going to get along very well."
Roll credits, applause, etc. That would be great.

It seems many famous people I admire were no great lovers of sleep, resenting the loss of the waking world and themselves.
So it is with a certain guilt that I profess my love of sleep, the wondrously selfish pleasure of kicking time to the wolves of my subconscious, to laugh and dance as a god in realms painted sunset…

Though I am fond of questioning reality as an idle way to pass the time, 'how can you tell dream from reality' is a question that I wonder how those who have dreamed can even ask with a straight face… Yes, dreams have pain, and worse still, dreams have love, but it is only in reality that I look around with dull eyes and think 'I hope this is over soon...'

Of course I love the wind, it ruffles my hair ceaselessly and sings to me unendingly. How motherly, the wind, (and what a windbag, my mother!)

Damnable dreamers us all, and curse the sleepwalkers whose somniloquence smarmily assures everyone of their wakefulness

I try to treat men and women with kindness, but… big eyes, thin waists, pretty faces- face it, I'm hardwired to prefer wasps

The girl of my dreams

I've dreamed of a lotta girls. Mostly imaginary ones, one real one in particular.
There's one that haunts me. She was definitely a zombie or something, definitely underaged, very naked. Very cold. She wanted a hug, or I did- hard to say in a dream, though I suppose everything there was me anyway- either she or I was about to depart from a ruined and broken world- some donnie darko rabbit alien fuckers had sucked the energy out of it, and everything was black and white and purple and cold. And but so of course I gives her a hug.

So cold, she was.

Should I start writing a diary if I think I'm not being productive enough? I've never had one before, but lately I feel like I'm wastin way too much time during the day and figured it could help to have a quiet private time every evening to rethink all the stuff.
You guys think it might help, anyone here tried that before and got positive results?

I'm never honest.

I have a hard time not lying, but I tend to stay with my lies so it's a consistent whole.

Diary time could easily transition to writing time I think

One page is filled with nothing but +/- 100 times the word "fuck"

4/25/16

"I don't think Aeris has been happy. Her lifestyle seems shallow and meaningless. I think back at my life, maybe Aeris would think my life is bland as well, how I only talk about my cat with her. I'm so tired all the time, I will only know why if I'm willing to explore my "self". I hate thinking for too long about my "self", there are things too painful to admit and I'm afraid I might become consumed by my "self". I'm afraid I will adopt the mindset that of a main character of the universe. I hate those small minds and their attitude of perpetual existence. I think of my mother and how she only seems to know my birthday and my love for "obscure" Anglo literature. I think of my father, of how he only knows that I read a lot weird English books and that my self-loath has destroyed me. Grandma has been dead for a year now, I miss her so much, she loved me even if I cannot love myself. I sometimes wonder if I truly love my husband, because if I can't love myself then maybe I can't love anyone else. All I know is that I want to be with him for the rest of my life. I want to have hot coffee with him early in the morning while we're sitting under a cold, dark sky. My regret is like sandpaper on the pit of my chest, I loathe myself for ever have letting go of our child together. I wanted my child, he wanted our child but we were just children ourselves. We can't even afford a crib for the poor soul. It used to be that I wish for death every sober night I sleep, but recently death comes beckoning even through Dionysus' blessings. I am lost."

...

As long as you can keep up the appearance of love, who cares.

I still have a diaries from when I was ~15.

Cringe worthy stuff m8's. Stupid shit about girls, and pseudo-existential retardation.

cringed hard

>fucking 6 girls

>The great question I always have is how many people feel as I do? I feel very alone sometimes, but I often wonder. I know nobody is as they appear, but how bad is it? How far does this go? Is everyone like me? I cannot decide if I would be comforted by that.

actually managing to not only save them, but also
read enough in them to remember the content,
shows extreme bravery my friend. I cant even imagine how horrible a diary from 15 year old me would be

Whatever you write might not be bettering your prose, but it will get you into the habit of writing everyday. Before you can sharpen your writing skills by constantly writing, you must have the habit to constantly write.

And I thought I was the only loser doing this.

That reminds me, I need to search my closet for those journals I wrote in when I was 16 and burn them. Jesus Christ, I don't even want to imagine a scenario were my mom or anybody else stumbles upon them.

Those are some massive numbers yo

For you

Damn son that's hella a score
Even the 13 years old me wouldn't be able to hold a candle to you. What happened on 7th May? Rough day?

I'm always afraid of dying unexpectedly and somebody going through my journals.

yes

pastebin.com/TmNC9Vdw

I have my days...

I'm a med school drop-out who lives on a trust fund and does nothing but read, wank, smoke and drive my late fathers red Porsche 930 around town, I have time to kill.

The meat was very tender after the beating that morning.

"October 15th, 1985..."

I'm jelly of your life, fuccboi

>May 7

Holy fucking shit. you alright, user-kun?

I don't recognize the software, is this excel?

I'm tracking a lot of shit for fun, weight, sleep, money, but sadly I don't do fancy graphs for faps. Besides, I almost never fap more than 2 times a day.
Do you have a job?

DFW stole and based "Oblivion" on my diary, I swear.

No, for fear it would be read by someone.

I filled a journal during college and then tore it shreds and threw the shreds away

What is the point of keeping a diary if you aren't even being honest with yourself in it?

And I thought my neurotic bullshit was bad.

I just write up what I'm doing wrong in life and end the piece I just wrote saying I'm going to think of solutions to fix the problem.
I never do but I feel like writing it down is a start, better than nothing.
Maybe I should just drop the last part if I'm not going to follow trough.
It's not be being intentionally dishonest

I just read what I wrote a month ago and its the most pretentious shit I've ever read

I don't think I'm lying but my entries are clearly just my current emotional state manifested into whatever I'm currently assuming to be the answer to life
Or just me writing very short entries about how I ought to kill myself

>parents bought me a diary when I was in 4th grade or so
>wrote about 4th grade shit
>go into my room one day to find my dad reading it
>am now forever afraid of people reading my personal writings
>only write on the computer because of this
fucking nosy cunts

damn

>juggling 6 women
looks like somebody started with the greeks!

I started with math and then Wittgenstein,
but for the most part, the girls didn't overlap at all

I kept 3 years of stats on the irl girls I jacked it to. I tagged each with stuff like their ethnicity and crunched stats on them (I'm a data scientist ). I even made up fictitious wrestling titles and awards that I gave to each based on frequency of masturbation (e.g. the Asian I fap to most would hold the Asian title, if I fapped to two girls they'd hold the lesbian titles, and so on)

All this shit was encrypted on my computer with GPG. I eventually deleted it because I almost got a GF and couldn't risk her discovering it (in part because she was in this massive fap database)

>having a diary

what am I? A fucking little girl?

Did the to be gf ever win a title?

My journal is full of coded psychological profiles of my enemies, and hand drawn blue prints and schematics of busy public areas with time stamped numbers of people present listed beside them.