You can't ignore your subconscious. It will eventually take hold of you and make you its bitch. A few years ago I had a journal and my first boyfriend. In this journal I had written every step of our blossoming relationship from the very first moment when he looked at me and I just melted. As we continued to become more and more intimate, I recorded every dirty little detail. One day my mother found the journal. She learned that my boyfriend and I were having sex. She was very upset, and needless to say so was I. Ever since that occurrence I could not regularly write in my journal. It was tainted. My most stupid, heart-felt, insignifcant, momentous emotions were in that damn little book. Someone had read it other than me. Noone was supposed to have read it but me. I was so angry. I just couldn't write anymore. I loved to write, but I just stopped. Every once in a while I would try to write about my day. It just wouldn't happen. It was so forced and biting, yet I had the urge to write. I really wanted to but couldn't. Today I was at the union and I bought a notebook and a pen. A brand new cute little pink notebook with no pain or stigma attached to it. I wrote about all the things I had been thinking about lately. It felt lovely and natural. I enjoyed it immensely and it made me very happy to write again.