Compassion, Realism & The Random Nature of Life

There is a homeless woman who started writing a blog to keep herself sane as she manages the reality of her situation. Most bloggers probably know about her because the media found her and interviewed her. Following the media coverage, hoardes of people looked at the site. There was quite a reaction from some who believed it to be a hoax. The details of her humiliation, however, seem genuine, and her writing is compelling. She goes by the moniker "Wandering Scribe," and she lives in her car, in the UK.

At some point she had serious emotional problems and that contributed to her disconnection from people and general society. It is both humbling and bizarre to read the site and the comments. At one point she wrote about feeling overwhelmed. People have so much well-meaning advice. I find myself checking the blog, and worrying about her, as she seems so sensitive. Yet the Ball & Chain works with homeless people, and they are more remote to me, even though I see them frequently. When I have met people who are homeless, I have not been struck by their resilience, or their ability to persevere. They have been people going through a hard time. Certainly not heroic for being hurt: just hurt. The Wandering Scribe could be me, without the family, the medications, and the friends.

Why did Ball & Chain stay with me when I was breaking apart years ago? Life is random in many ways: who can have children, who can have money, who walks, who stays. Many people with mental illness have written to Wandering Scribe to tell her that they, too, have been in a bad way. I very much hope and want to fully believe that she is there, and she is genuine. And every time I write an encouraging comment to her, I wonder if I am an idiot, if I will be exposed as one of the many who fell for a con artist interested in manipulating people. Then I am mortified.