The Blog

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The Burn Off

I walked into the Police Station to pick up my Journal.

It had taken months for the court to convict the man who had done unspeakable things. I had a small amount of information I’d actually written down in the Journal but obviously there was my own personal writings and stories that I really hoped they didn’t read.

Several years earlier I had an impression to write, every day. I was really rusty at first, I had cramps in my hands after a few minutes of using a pen, for months at first, I was 22 years old and writing was what I was forced to do in High School (so I thought at the time) so why do it as an adult right?

But every day I wrote, what I was going through, what happened during the day and what I thought was going to happen. It was very raw, personal and incredibly good for me. I didn’t know anyone else in my life who wrote. We weren’t encouraged in our family, so as far as I knew I was the only person who kept this discipline.

I would go over my past entries and read about what I was going through, and I could see how rapidly I was growing as a human being.

The first Journal became one year…

Then I’d need to start another…

Then another…

The Journals were the most precious things I owned. One Journal was even in a third person context just to keep the creative aspect to my writing. Instead of saying ‘I met a nice lady today in the bookstore…’ I would write ‘The woman approached Luke while his eyes scanned the novels in the Adelaide book store…’. It was a challenge, but so fun. My Journals could be written however I wanted. Because they were only for me.

Although, over the years, I couldn’t help but think ‘One day I may get married. I may even have children, even grandchildren…. what if they could read it?’ I never knew much of my families history….. I wish I did….. I wish someone had written it….

I realised… I was writing my story.

Or possibly…

Our story..

So when the Police Officer asked if she could take the Journal I had written through one of my most hardest yet valuable and growing times (like when I made the huge decision to marry my wife) she assured me it would help the case immensely and that it was very important.

“You will get it back.” She promised.

I asked “Couldn’t you just photocopy the pages?”

“It looks a lot better in Court if we have the real thing.”

Reluctantly I handed it over, full of anguish about giving away one of the most treasured parts of my life I had recorded. But I knew it was incredibly important for this person to be brought to justice….. but also for the protection of others in the future.

So in I walked to the Police Station, a year or so later after having been given a phone call that it was available, I was nervously ready to take home not only a valuable journal,

but part of myself that was invaluable……………….

My story.

Our story.

“Hi my name is Luke Greaves, I’m hear to grab my Journal.”

The officer asked some questions, looked on the computer and walked off. After a few minutes he came back.

“I’m sorry sir, it’s not available.”

“What do you mean?”
“It was burned with a drug crop a couple of days ago.”

 

“What!?! Why?”

 

“Because you didn’t pick it up in time.”

 

To be continued

Want to read Part 2? Click here