I made a promise to myself a few years ago that, each time I entered a new year, I'd write a journal reflecting upon the previous one.
Because 2010 was a very tough year for me emotionally, I immediately began to write about my hardships and how much I struggled to pull myself through to December. Though, upon getting about halfway through my tale, I suddenly realized something.
Why does any of it matter?
What would be the point in informing everyone of how much weight I carried on my shoulders? What good could that possibly do? Everything I wrote practically screamed out an invitation to the world's largest pity party, meaning that my re