Delerium of Disorder

Still struggling today, but maybe getting used to it, maybe I can somehow create order out of my own chaos.

It makes me smile when I read my comments, and I thank you, both the commenters and the silent readers, for coming here and listening to me. I am honoured by your presence. Since finding this little community of survivor blogs, I am so much less alone, I feel less like a complete lunatic, and I am encouraged by the fact that you all seem to be such beautiful, gentle, giving people.

Especially anonymous of This Long Lonely Walk. My friend, who I am too shy to say much to...I have discovered some truly eerie parallels between our lives whilst reading your blog, and your very existence comforts me, but at the same time it sends chills down my spine. I am glad you're here. I am glad to know you.

I am afraid to say too much about myself, as I want to speak freely here, which makes me feel as though I must hide my face. I am a person between. I was born in America, lived most of my life there. Now, though, I am somewhere else in the world, with no plans to go home again, not ever. I try to speak as though I belong in the country where I live now, but it's a mask, you see. It's something I wish I was, rather than who I truly am.

I have no contact with the adult members of my family. I have turned away from them completely. Yet I am a mother of two children, one very young and living with me, the other growing up too fast and living with his father. This is something that used to cause me great pain, but now I see that it was meant to be like this, it's better for us all this way. I hope he understands that, too.

More later, maybe.

In my rectory of doubt,
I kneel and pray like one devout,
As time- this great grey dreamless sleep of a useless modern God- erodes away
each storied day
As wretched Adams with hell to pay
Content upon a rail of pain for just a little rain.
And everything is dearly missed,
Blood relations and bricks,
My expression, my confession,
Add it up, extract a lesson more than this
Once again, like a bullet, as a friend,
Tell me
Can that be all there is?