Lately the need to write, or the ability to do so escapes me.
I enjoy spinning a tale but it does not come easy to me.. it has at many times been a creative outlet reflecting on, or helping me deal with the issues in my life.
I expect my life is no different than anyone else's, but at times it feels worse than most and it overwhelms me..
I am 53 years old and have still yet to feel comfortable in my own skin.
I had thought by now I would have a certain amount of confidence. NOT.
I had thought by now Id have gotten over being the kid who was bullied and teased in the school yard. NOT.
I am sensitive to being teased. I do OK with a bit, but after a while I begin to feel hurt', centred out and embarassed and eventually withdraw from the person doing the teasing because I find I begin to second guess their motives.
I suspect this goes back to the school yard.
What this amounts to is, I am painfully shy and try very hard to pretend I am not. In that attempt, I am sure I come across as awkward and weird to some people.
I try to come across as confident, but again I am not. and again...I am sure I come across as awkward and weird.
I have a couple of very dear friends who know this and see beyond it to who I really am and I cherish them with all my heart. One, is my daughter. Who would have guessed my daughter would be one of my closest friends.
The other is a woman who used to be my boss. Her and her husband hired me to work as the receptionist/whatever else needed doing plus on air stuff, at their radio station.
Neither of them judges me, both of them are an ear when I need it and I know they would be there in a pinch if I asked. And I am sure they know it's a two way street.
So, at my age, I live my life not sure of most of the relationships I have. The one with my parents is a given. They love me and do not judge me either.. I do not doubt that for one second. But to avoid worrying them I keep life and its trials to myself.
My daughter and my other friend are my rocks. They see past my shyness and awkwardness. They tease mildly and lovingly seeming to sense when to stop.
I used to think the number of friends you had was important and was a direct reflection of who you are.
It is not the case.
It is the quality of the friends you have. The ones who really care and will listen and support you during the good and the bad. The ones who are with you during the good times and laughter and remain when the times are not so good and you need to vent and whine.
That, in my mind, is a true friend.
I have two.
I am very fortunate.