(no subject)
I've had a live journal account for about two years now. This is my first post. I guess it is just time.
I lived in New Orleans. In the first weeks after the hurricane, live journal is one of the things that kept me sane. I guess I just couldn't talk about it until now. I really still can't talk about it, not really.
I lived in a magic place, with friends who were straight out of fairyland. We had magical gatherings and strange rituals. We picnicked in the swamp. We danced in the streets. We had bloodbath tea parties and art church. I lived in a community with artists and dreamers. I was home.
I don't know where all of my friends are now. They have scattered to the winds. I've only spoken to a few of them. I miss them.
We went back to New Orleans to find our house ruined, our things in the street, and my wedding ring stolen. Every piece of artwork that my husband and I made is gone. Every poem that I ever wrote is gone. All of my diaries and sketchbook, all of my photos, the better part of twelve years, all gone.
We salvaged a few things. We dealt with toxic mold. We dealt with insane landladies. We dealt with vultures and graverobbers, who were paid by said landladies, to steal, break, and throw on a rubbish heap the sad remains of our home.
Since the hurricane I've wavered between stoicism and raving lunacy. Well, not really, you see I'm living with family that doesn't approve of raving. I feel like a lunatic on the inside but I have to keep up appearances. If I was with my beloved friends I could howl in anguish until all the poison was out of my system.
I'm searching for meaning in senseless things. I want to believe that some good has to come of all this.
I've told myself and others, We were lucky. We evacuated before the storm. We didn't have to go through the hell that some did. We are alive. We didn't lose anyone. All of our friends and family are alive.
I've chanted that like a mantra. I've told myself that I'll be ok, that I'm strong, that we'll get through this and be better people in the end.
That worked until tonight.
Tonight I found out that my mother has cancer. She has three months to live.
I'm mad at God. I'm mad at the universe. I'm mad at myself.
I don't know what to do. I don't seem to have a plan. I don't know how to deal with this.
I'm lost.
I'm broken.
I'm not ok.
I don't think I can do this anymore.
I don't think I'm going to be alright.
I miss my friends.
I lived in New Orleans. In the first weeks after the hurricane, live journal is one of the things that kept me sane. I guess I just couldn't talk about it until now. I really still can't talk about it, not really.
I lived in a magic place, with friends who were straight out of fairyland. We had magical gatherings and strange rituals. We picnicked in the swamp. We danced in the streets. We had bloodbath tea parties and art church. I lived in a community with artists and dreamers. I was home.
I don't know where all of my friends are now. They have scattered to the winds. I've only spoken to a few of them. I miss them.
We went back to New Orleans to find our house ruined, our things in the street, and my wedding ring stolen. Every piece of artwork that my husband and I made is gone. Every poem that I ever wrote is gone. All of my diaries and sketchbook, all of my photos, the better part of twelve years, all gone.
We salvaged a few things. We dealt with toxic mold. We dealt with insane landladies. We dealt with vultures and graverobbers, who were paid by said landladies, to steal, break, and throw on a rubbish heap the sad remains of our home.
Since the hurricane I've wavered between stoicism and raving lunacy. Well, not really, you see I'm living with family that doesn't approve of raving. I feel like a lunatic on the inside but I have to keep up appearances. If I was with my beloved friends I could howl in anguish until all the poison was out of my system.
I'm searching for meaning in senseless things. I want to believe that some good has to come of all this.
I've told myself and others, We were lucky. We evacuated before the storm. We didn't have to go through the hell that some did. We are alive. We didn't lose anyone. All of our friends and family are alive.
I've chanted that like a mantra. I've told myself that I'll be ok, that I'm strong, that we'll get through this and be better people in the end.
That worked until tonight.
Tonight I found out that my mother has cancer. She has three months to live.
I'm mad at God. I'm mad at the universe. I'm mad at myself.
I don't know what to do. I don't seem to have a plan. I don't know how to deal with this.
I'm lost.
I'm broken.
I'm not ok.
I don't think I can do this anymore.
I don't think I'm going to be alright.
I miss my friends.