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In the Comfort of My Room

January 17





I sit and panic concerning the future.  I have come through hell, built a safe and satisfying life, but it will all end soon.  I can feel it.  The tide rises in my soul, the blood red tide of self-doubt and degradation.  I fail to see my strength, or intelligence.  Hell, I can’t even remember the sheer willingness, which has carried me this far.  All I see are shreds, tattered little bits of my hopes and dreams, scattered by the breeze of fate.

What is the point of me being in this sweet space if I’m going to intellectually turn it to a dungeon?  Why set out fluffy pillows only to frighten myself daily with thoughts of their removal?  How can I pray for safety and practice personal terrorism?  With an open mind?  No!  My mind is closed to the double side of life.  I know the destruction but forget the glory.  I have washed ashore in the land of love and support.  I need not drag my mind and spirit to the nether world of hopelessness.  I’ve been to the dark places.  My task is to warm in the sunlit today.



Make an anagram of your name, which empowers you.






There is strangeness to the dark.

A velvety comfort

when my paranoia is not alive

with ice crystals and contempt.


Cocoons of light create hives of life

in an otherwise isolating phenomena.

Pressing to my skin I can wear the night out

as a jewel, a talisman for the hope I dare not share.


Pixies and faeries inhabit dawn’s wee hours

but the black blank stretch of space

is home to things quite different.


Unspeakable in their face I allow them to pass.

Should I be carried off my return is eminent

for half the seeds remain.


Not wholly ransomed I live only part time in the sun.

When the shadows fall there is the oddness of home

I can neither embrace nor deny.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault