I threw away my dream journal. That was an odd moment. The last few dreams in it were not dreams that I wanted to remember. Oh, they weren't nightmares or anything like that. They were dreams I had when I was feeling suicidal. I read through them again and I can feel the pain there. It's like an old wound, and you can run your fingers across the scar tissue, and the raw nerve endings fire up, and if you tweak it just right, you can feel the same pain all over again.
So I tossed my dream journal. I'd only been keeping it for a few years. Most of my other dreams are in my diary and stuff like that. I wish I remembered more of my dreams, because I'm sure there must be happy ones. Everyone has some happy dreams every now and then. I wish I could remember those.