There are many words what would define me, sometimes creative, sometimes articulate, always a little bit odd. It is very hard to get to know me. By nature I am a shy awkward individual, easily misunderstood. Add to these characteristics so to am I moody, anxious and battle with an underlying anger and depression that has seen me privately seething, even through smiles. I am the wearer of many masks, it is easier to hide pain than begin to explain it.

I have many fears,  struggling and doing battle with  myself mostly. While I cannot remember what I did two hours ago, I remember with absolute clarity things that happened when I was as young as three, and I suspect fears and insecurities began earlier than that. Even as a child, young teen, young adult, I knew I was different. It came as a relief when this oddness, thoughts, moods...were given a name. Bi Polar, this thing could be defined. I was forty three when diagnosed.

I have a hard time trusting people, yet I am very kind hearted and giving. I detest liars and thieves. I am what you may refer to as hyper-sensitive, I feel too much, it takes very little to hurt my feelings. I will feel wounded after an confrontation or a perceived wrong, this will find me licking my own wounds and hibernating for extended periods of time. I do not function well in crowds,  seldom do I allow people to get close to me. When I do, I have expectations of that person, the greatest being somehow that they will "see" me, the me I am, and will understand. When they don't I am hurt and disappointed...invisible.

 I have from time to time social phobia's and will take refuge at home. I am a control freak. I have safe places, and can get there with little trouble most of the time. All of my outings are planned when I am least likely to find myself in a crowd...for instance grocery shopping, would be when others are either home eating or preparing to, that culls out the crowds. I feel less stressed. Lately I seem to have developed nervous bowel syndrome and this is playing havoc with my ability to plan things outside my home. It is devastating, I feel I have lost enough in the past dozen years because of being bipolar.

My father, handsome, clever devil that he was, was also a wife beating alcoholic, and when we ranged in ages from 6 years to 6 months, my mother left the marriage and brought the four of us up as a single mother. Our mother ( my brother and two sisters) quite plainly put...we adored and respected. We were well brought up, and we were close. There was not a lot of money, all the same we were never hungry, never dirty, always polite. Something was expected of us and we all pitched in doing what we could to contribute. We were probably more mature than the average children our ages, experience prior to my mother leaving our father would have accounted for that. We certainly learned one valuable lesson, never be so careless, so thoughtless as to hurt another either through word or deed. Each of us had seen enough pain inflicted on our mother to garner this lesson and practice it well.

I have worked hard all my life, my way of proving to all, perhaps especially my mother, that I was not my fathers child. I have never wanted to disappoint anyone. It has been hard being perfect when you are emotionally scarred and damaged. I have been married for the best part of thirty three years, to a kind gentle man who does not drink, is not miserable and abusive and who would never raise a hand or his voice to me. Together we have three daughters and they were never a problem, they turned out just fine and we are very proud of them. Two are married and we now have two granddaughter, both little replicas of their own mother's. Despite my moodiness and illness, my family is supportive. Sometimes I don't realize this, other times I seem not to appreciate this either.

I love the night, the darkness, the silence. The moon, the stars, the indigo night sky, all touch me in a way I cannot explain. I tend to be a spiritual person, even more so than a religious person. Storms excite and charge me with energy, the worse the storm the better I like it. Perhaps it is the danger that thrills me, in electric storms I suspect this to be true. Being an insomniac, my best sleeping comes when it storms, high winds and rain specifically.

Cape Breton Island is home to me, and I am a very proud Cape Bretoner. I love Celtic music, and we have extremely talented  and gifted musicians and songwriters on the island. Step dancing and fiddle playing a part of the culture and heritage which I very much appreciate. My home, my island is rustic and beautifully carved out of mountains and valleys, flatlands and fishing communities cut out of rugged coastlines. I love the smell of salt water in my nostrils, the  feel of  salt water spray crashing on rock and shore. This place is a delight to bring children up and there are still pockets of old fashioned principles and traditions. Unfortunately we have been seeing the infestation of drugs, some would blame that on high unemployment. I don't. I blame it on poor parenting and drug pushers.

This year was rather tuff for me. I lost my best friend to cancer, and I closed the door on another friend whom I adore, and always will. She was one of those people I had expectations of. I wanted her to know me, understand me, notice me. She could not, or would not. I waited to be wanted, that happened only when convenient. This left me feeling hurt and ignored, this year, I saw enough hurt, so I cancelled out more. Maybe if I strike everyone out of my life, eventually there will be no more pain.

So now you know something about me...and I will be shocked if anyone every reads this...lol!!