out of the blogging closet

black-and-white-1890445__340 veil

After blogging here from fall 2009 to 2016 as phylor, finally reaching an unheard of for me, number of followers and views, I stopped. I had been here as phylor too long, drifting. Still feeling on the outside.

Going through a strong emotional and life-defying crisis when the medications didn’t keep me stable, the antidepressants made me more depressed, and my body rebelled in a thousand ways. The prompting duties, like any duty, responsibility or task became too much and I bowed out to a gracious co-host. Who took me back, on spec, when I felt stronger later.

The followers didn’t follow, but I no longer pay attention to stats. I have gotten over stats and comments jealousy unless I’m fully encased in my bipolarsphere.

I shifted to another blog, as stated, to blend with a second personae who was not so separate at times – I’m not good at such things – and technologically had become increasingly difficult to keep apart. With variations, I blogged, still as a pseudo – not yet ready to reveal any more of myself. Oh, I spill my guts obviously and between the lines, keep up the pretense there is a veil before my face.

Then, in participating in an on-going challenge, the moderator asked what the heck to call me, I took a deep breath and said, “Lorraine.” One step closer to me. One layer of that veil removed.

I dance with my bubble maker on the lawn at times – or try too. Guess now it’s the dance of the six veils . . . .


words never stop

File:Jules Breton - The Wounded Sea Gull.jpg

Image: The Wounded Sea Gull (Jules Breton 1878)

words never stop

crying, circling, cycling

like sea gulls over

ship’s wake

Assignment 9: writing, not writing

I am constantly writing, even though most never makes it from my mind to the screen. Or posted. Or published. I tell myself stories. I re-re-re-edit my never-ending novelettes (exclusively in my head of late). I record words in journals. Words, always words.