journal entry ~ october 24, 2011 ~ disorder

Panera Bread drinking coffee
10/24/11
________________

A myriad of thoughts runs through my head.

Do I corral them?

Once corralled, which thought will I catch if I decide to toss a lasso into the herd?

I could just sit here on the fence and watch the herd, the hive, swarm.

If I just observe instead of trying to capture, will the herd at some point experience synchronized order, like random swinging clock pendulums that then synchronize on a clock wall?

If clock pendulums herded on a wall can synchronize by just continuing to swing, cannot my thoughts do the same?

It seems there must be order to the herd, the hives, the flocks. I've read that is so.

The individual beasts don't force this order. The only "force" is their state of being; they simply are. Their instincts dictate.

My current state of gross disorder in my life must have some sort of purpose...maybe?

But then, has my life ever been ordered?

These days, I piddle away time on the computer, often times re-reading my own writing. I'll check my blog statcounter and note which pieces are read...and I'll reread some of the pieces that are being read.

Why do I do that? What need is it meeting? What makes it so important that it supercedes the laundry and getting my home in order? What am I looking for? Am I trying to find me?

I wonder if other people do that with their blogs?

All these writings are like that herd in the corral, each piece like a beast. The individual words and letters expressing strings of thoughts are like the parts of the beast....matter, cells, emotions, and all that swims around in some sort of organized chaos.

But...the disorder in my home is not organized chaos; it is disorganized and it silently screams at me continually. Why do I avoid it?

As I was conversing with Teresa today at the dentist office, mail came up as a subject. I confessed, "I have mail down on my desk that has awaited me for two years, lost in the scattered piles of mail received since then."

Then in my head, events of personal history tumbled forth..one after the other...circumstances of life-causing chaos...beginning in 2008 to present and then all the way back to childhood.

It seemed to all start in 2008, this vast disorder.

My hip disability; then hip replacement surgery; then blood clots from the surgery; then discovering later that my hip is on recall so now it's on continual observation; then Mom in the nursing home; then Mom dying; then Mom's home of 50 years to be cleaned out and sold; then part of Mom's home's contents taking over my dining room and other parts of my house; then my daughter moving in and out and more furniture to store...in the dining room and garage; then hard wood floors installed in the lower level and moving everything out that I have yet, after two years, to move back in; then I got MRSA four different times; then I got involved with the dual roles with my ex-mental health therapist that ended with his verbal assaults and me learning I'm not the only one who has been one of his verbal assault targets...that it's a pattern; then the tormenting decision of filing a complaint on the therapist; then learning more about the pattern of deceit over the following months; then the agonizing process of deciding whether or not to go public with some of the information; then buying a business; then being stricken with the crippling effect of serum sickness and its misdiagnosis for a couple months and now being on long-term steroids; then the ex-therapist deciding to publicly lie about me including a fabricated sex propositioning story and posting his lies with my photograph, even on other people's Facebook pages, and the small, public feeding frenzy comment responses that ensued based on his lies and his description of me; then my car and bike getting stolen a couple weeks ago. And before all that was the disorder of leaving The Way after 28 years. I left alone, without my family...though they left, one at a time, over the following eight months. And then the whole GreaseSpot Cafe ordeal...more hypocrisy. And before leaving The Way were our family moves, five times in seven years, the final move being in 2003. And before that were the almost two decades of struggling to breathe and the other chronic health conditions while I was "believing God" for healing, not to mention the multiple sinus surgeries and 1000s of needle pricks and sticks. And there was the care of my Dad as a quadriplegic after a car wreck, not to mention my mom with bipolar swings. And before that, beginning at 13, were boys and then drugs, not to mention the one boyfriend when I was 14 years old who used to hit me with his fist when he'd get drunk and jealous. And before that are only snippets of memory, though I've been told about the violent temper that my father could physically impose.

Disorder.

Then my thought, "Carol, it's not that bad. You don't live in a war zone."

Yet I find myself wanting to escape with no where to escape to.

Can I accept what I can't change, part of that being myself? There are things about me that simply will always be.

I know not how to begin to get my life back in order.

"Back in order" indicates there was at some time "order."

Maybe there was.
________________