save me from being blown forever outside the loop of time

So I confess. I don't know how this works. I have never written a blog before. I don't know how to see who has viewed this page, how to spread it in public; how to remain anonymous. I tended to think blogs were a strange medium. Why bother, I thought? Who would write a diary in public?

But now, I crave a space to be anonymous, and yet to be seen. To be me again. Not to be mummy, daughter, crazy sister, loving grand-daughter caring for my near-blind grandfather as he sees out his final months or years. Not to be friend, lover or smiley acquaintance. I crave a space to SCREAM if I need to , to tear my hair out, to mock the idiots who have waltzed through my day shitting on my parade; or just to be quiet.

Virginia Woolf called it a Room of one's Own. I haven't read any Woolf since I left university, but I've been living her truths. Her voice gave credence to the circular lives of women, our lack of straight lines; our contradictory needs for reassurance and independence.

We cannot help but be defined by our men - for me it is my son, my father, my brothers, my ex-partners, my co-dependent soulmate. We coil ourselves around them like snakes, we compete for them; and yet really how we long to be free. Really, there is a force stronger than sex. Really, we are foam on the ocean, stardust in the night sky.

So perhaps here I can reassure myself and emerge again, slowly, through the power of words, from my daily chaos. 'The world is entire; and I am outside of it, crying 'Oh save me, from being blown forever outside the loop of time!' Rhoda in 'the Waves' - she is too fragile for this world. Like Amy Winehouse, or Sylvia Plath. I worry often that I am like this. But I cannot die young; I have two children to cement me to this world; I want to see my grandchildren; I want to keep on breathing breathing breathing .

And here, in this blog, I want to just be one voice, crying out if anyone is listening that she is lonely, trapped, suffering, waving, almost almost drowing, clawing her way through the half-formed days, doing her best which never ever seems to be good enough...... and that if you feel that way as well you are not the only one.