Something to write about

"I grasped God's garment in the void
but my hand slipped
on the rich silk of it.
The 'everlasting arms' my sister loved to remember
must have upheld my leaden weight
from falling, even so,
for though I claw at empty air and feel
nothing, no embrace,
I have not plummeted."
Denise Levertov

My journal just ran out of pages, and I'm kinda upset about it. It was one of my favorite ones ever. It's made out of a vintage scarf, making it completely unique. When I open it, it lies completely flat, making it extremely easy to write in, The pages the perfect size AND unlined. I love unlined journal, and in highschool I swore never to buy lined ones again. I'm very picky with journals, and I'm excited / dreading looking for another one. More than that I'm scared of filling another book with thoughts and words that talk themselves in circles with their clumsy introspection.
I realized today how introspective I am and how bad it is for me. The whole late adolescence "find your identity" thing is a necessary, exciting phase. But for people like me, it's extremely perilous. People like me think about themselves too much anyway, so it's really not the healthiest idea for me to start looking at how I fit into the world, how it relates to me, and search for truth in the midst of all that. My search for truth and my search for identity collide resulting in a search for truth in my identity resulting in a search for truth in myself. Something in me that's constant, secure, anything, anything. And them I implode because there's absolutely nothing in me that's worth standing on . . . my joy, my smile, my thoughts, my personality, my ideas . . . all of it gets jumbled and crumbles in the face of anything remotely difficult in my life. So I write pages and pages to myself, convincing myself that I haven't fallen, not completely. Then I realize that I've written for a year and a half of my life, and don't have much to show for it.
Most of the time truth is a lot simpler than we make it. I look for formulas to make things work, try getting everything in the world to fit into some kind of cohesive mold that works with my life. But really there's not much to figure out. It's all there already and all it takes is me getting my focus off myself for long enough to see it. God's truth has nothing to do with how I'm feeling, and my feelings, good or bad, don't mean that what He said is any more or less true. It's something that's outside of me. It doesn't fit into my box, but it fills it. It doesn't make my life make sense, but it gives it a purpose. And it doesn't give some magical formula that answers the question of what I need to do to make everything ok because it is in no way dependent on anything that I do. That's when I have something to write about.