While I’m waiting for this case of flu to blow over, I may as well write something.

I had a dreadful experience in the Land of Cleve, which I will write about as soon as I get un-triggered enough to be capable of writing more than ba-ba-baaaa-baba-baaaaa…see what I mean?

And the root of it all is shame.

Shame that after surviving a childhood of violence, confusion, loneliness, and fear, surviving rape, prostitution, homelessness, and fear, pulling it together and getting successful in art, music, and medicine, shame that after all those shooting star successful years, I’m still broken, more broken even than before.

Shame that at the age of 63 I am homeless.

Don’t think for a moment that my fancy camper van and my (to quote my dear mother) “fat disability check” means I am not homeless.

“Don’t say homeless, say house-free,” sage advice from just another such as me.

Don’t believe it.

I know what it’s like to have a home.  I’ve had them, from time to time.  They just don’t stick.

I can’t stay anywhere, because she will find me.  She will drag me out from under the bed where I am hiding…so I have to move.  I have to run.

I can’t stay anywhere, because he will hit on me, he will sell me to his friends while I am knocked out on Angel Dust that he put in my joint…I can’t stay here, because the cops will find me.  You don’t have to be pretty for the cops to like to play with you but it helps, sometimes in a good way and sometimes not…

Such a shame, she’s got all these degrees and doesn’t use them, just sits on her ass all day….

Shame can drive you to despair, makes you want to disappear, but where?

If I were well, I’d go back to work

Settle down


Publish my books

Find some friends

Get a life

If I were well, there’s a lot I could do.

Now it has to be good enough just to deal with the stares.

Yes, it’s that bad.  I try to fix myself up so I don’t look so crazy as all that, but lately (I think it’s the limp now, from the sciatica, it’s killing me) I’m noticing…maybe I should buy some new clothes.  I hate throwing out perfectly good clothes.  OK, they have holes, and when you live outside, you’re bound to get dirty.  

Maybe I should cut my hair.  Even when I braid it, it ends up all wispy and wild.

Maybe I should….

I hope this doesn’t last too much longer.  

Leave a comment


  1. Laura I can deeply feel this
    I know this place well
    I am sending healing light
    You know where to find me
    And very big Hugs
    As always Sheldon

  2. No Laura, the shame is for those who put us in these circumstances and then turn around and blame us for being there. You are good people, what counts is what is inside our hearts not what we are wearing. Don’t let them get you down sweetheart! Sending love and hugs!!!

  3. I hope so, too. No one deserves homelessness, disabling chronic illness, or the long-term effects of surviving trauma. My son has pled to me to fix him, to get him fixed. He has lived with migraines and cyclic vomiting. I’ve taken him to numerous specialists. Unfortunately, as you know, too often there are no fixes.

    • At least you try. At least you take him seriously. At least you don’t mock him when he’s hurting. I hope.

      • For the most part, I’m gentle and compassionate. That’s not to say I haven’t pushed him at times, or tried humor to cajol him to eat, get out of bed, and go to school. He pushes back, though. He stands up for himself. When I err, I apologize. It can be difficult to tease out somatic symptoms, symptoms of social anxiety and depression, symptoms physical or neurological in nature, and malingering.

  4. Sweetie, you have been through so much. I wish I could help you. I know what you are going through with the flashback stuff but not the experiences you are having. I never could fully understand that because I am not you. I hope this, whatever it is, passes and you feel better, mentally and physically. sweet hugs my friend.

  5. no wise words here. just a shoulder to lean on if you want. you are not crazy and it doesn’t matter how you look. you are you and you are wonderful.

  6. You have shown courage to put it on paper and there must be courage to overcome. How can I say anything else. I feel for you.


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