Thank you, and good night.

I spent some time last night reading my blog, including many of the posts I've put into draft status after publishing. The truth is, until the last couple of years my blog was kind of fun. I posted snippets of life, talked about fun or funny things that have happened to me, included posts about my kids...in short, it was a fairly well-rounded look at my life and I was able to talk with many people, both regulars and those passing through, about serious and light-hearted events.

For quite awhile now, however, this blog has simply become a place to record my feelings when I'm overwhelmed or sad--a PTSD journal, I suppose. I don't like that and I'm guessing few people want to read it, either. Public blogs are meant to be read.

About eight months ago I put my blog feeds on partial so that anyone interested in seeing what I was saying would have to visit me and thereby be recorded in my stats. There are still quite a few visitors, but only a few say anything in comments or when we chat, which leads me to believe that this blog has lost most of its value both for me, and for anyone visiting. And I'm also beginning to feel that I don't wish to air my weaknesses and stupidity for silent strangers. I am no longer the anonymous exhibitionist.

I am very glad to have found this outlet when I first began therapy. And as I have stated before, I will forever be indebted to Ward Cleaver--another blogger who taught me the ropes and helped me understand how fellow bloggers can offer empathy, advice, and friendship even when they have never met. He disappeared after five short months of daily contact--and after nearly five years, I still miss him.

To those of you who have taken time to respond to my words in the past--I thank you. To those who have continued to respond and encourage me even now--I love you. You've helped more than you know. I've had days when one comment helped me manage a great deal of stress, simply because it felt like someone cared.

I suppose I'll continue to grow used to my life with it's embroidery of PTSD and other stress disorders left over from rape and abuse. I'll keep seeking ways to manage those. I'll keep trying to be the best parent, spouse, friend, and human being that I can be. And one day, if I learn how to be at peace with all that, I may visit here just to shout it out into the blogosphere. No one will be left to hear me, but I'll do it anyway.

If you visited me even once, I thank you. Picture me wiggling my nose and zapping to each of you long warm  days filled with flowers, blue skies, tall glasses of lemonade, and the company of the people you love--because that's what I'm wishing for you right now.

And if you find me online--I'd love to play a game of Scrabble with you.