Last night I dreamt you came home

I opened my eyes

The bed was empty

You weren’t there

Damn you, dreams

Building up false hope

Reality is where I need to live

——     ——     ——

Dream state: you’re home

Reality: I’m alone

Dream state: you’re cuddled up beside me

Reality: it’s cold

Dream state: you’ll never go again

Reality…. sucks

——     ——     ——

Maybe dreams aren’t so bad

Perhaps I can close my eyes

Just a little longer

Time will pass swiftly

You’ll be home again

And my arms won’t ache

For that’s where you’ll be once more


Primarily, I write because I like writing. In some ways, I can articulate, organize and sift through my thoughts and issues better than merely speaking them out loud. Written down, I can revisit them. I have a tendency to blurt things out or speak without thinking in person. Not so, when I write.

I can take my time. Edit. Remove. Add. Clarify. Re-read. Digest. Writing helps me cope and it helps me stay sane. While journaling on a real piece of paper using an actual writing implement could accomplish the same thing, in a way, it doesn’t. If I write in a paper journal, no one but me will see those words. And yes, while I primarily write for me, I also write  for you, too. Maybe a thought I write will strike you and cause you to stop and think. Or maybe to laugh or chuckle. Maybe you won’t feel so alone in your struggles. Maybe you’ll reach out to me and together we can carry the load. Whatever the reason, I’m sharing my most intimate thoughts here on the Internet.

I find, too, that if I get the words out of my head, I don’t obsess over them quite as much. I can let that thought go. Release it from my mind. Freeing me from my own self. At times, I can get stuck on a thought and stay in a rut. If I write about it, I can process it better and move on in life. Also, by writing, I stay nameless and faceless thereby bypassing the judgment that would surely come my way if I actually spoke these things out loud.

Not one single person that I know knows this blog. I blog elsewhere publicly. That blog is attached to my name and my person. Through social media and the like. This blog is special to me personally. It’s where I come out of my self-made shell, in a way, and share my inner-most thoughts and struggles. It’s where I get real. While I have a few friends who know this blog exists, they don’t know the name of it. No one could look it up by my name and attach it to me personally. Well, except the Internet robots, of course. But I have a feeling they won’t tell.

I live in relative seclusion off the power grid in rural Alaska. Location isn’t really that important, but it might explain a few things too. I don’t just get in my car and go for a drive. Or even turn on the tap for a drink of water. Life is a struggle and can also be a joy. Those things aren’t what this blog is about. Those are the physical. These writings and notes are about my thoughts, struggles, sadness, life-navigation, coping, grief, friendship, love and whatever else strikes my fancy.

I’m not going to try to dazzle you with glorious photos or deep insights. I don’t have those. What I do have is transparency, as far as my thought process goes. I want to remain anonymous but I also want to reach out and maybe help just one person out there.

I don’t need comments or likes or followers to keep doing this. Some of those would be nice, I suppose, but I’m okay with just getting these words out of me and into the air. Writing, for me, is healing. And I am in need of that. A healing of the mind and of the soul. A new page turns now.

tara caribou | ©2017

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