I started keeping a journal at a very early age. My first journals were composed of pictures that depicted what was going on in my life at the time. (Similar to cave drawing, but less violent and with fewer Mammoths).
After I learned to read and write, the quality of the journals vastly improved and I journaled steadily through my teen and high school years.
I was the only child in a very large family and I was always petrified that someone would find my journals and read them. These were meant just for me and I recorded and detailed some pretty embarrassing things. It is ironic now that I share my journal entries with the world, when this used to be one of my greatest fears.
Motivated by this fear, (when I was about seventeen) I assembled all of my journals and stick figure drawings, dumped them in a barrel, added some lighter fluid and set them ablaze. Even at the time I was doing it I wondered whether I was doing the right thing.
If I could go back in time and change that day I would. I would have just burned the maps that showed where the journals were buried. It would have saved me a lot of digging.