It is a beautiful thing.

It is a strange old world when the writing of diaries is there for all to see. I have spent the afternoon driving my techno son around to pick up his new car, with the promise that he will sort my blog out for me when we get back. well we got back and now he needs a poo and will sort it out on Saturday.. By which time i will probably have played around with it enough to have enlisted myself into the most expensive subscription and Darren will be tutting at me profusely.

The reality is for me, putting finger to keyboard (see what i did there) supports me. Writing is soothing to my soul, and whilst i am seen as someone that has a blabber mouth that overshares, I don't really. We are all hiding something aren't we and the truth is, for me, speaking is harder than writing.

Speaking is dangerous.. putting words into a sentence that is structured and doesn't involve me thinking the F bomb is funny, or going off on a tangent where i invariably forget what i wanted to say in the first place.

I guess sharing via writing is my way of making it better, not just for me but for others, others that sometimes feel that they are failing at life, or are alone. There is comfort in numbers isn't there?

I am not everyone's cup of tea, and I have reached a grand age, where i accept this, but what i hate is being misjudged. Recently I have been made to feel like I am a "snowflake" and this is used in a derogatory way. This perception of me shouldn't bother me, but it does. How can something as beautiful as a flake of snow be a derogatory thing, it settles and sits there all pretty, only to melt away back into the earth that we walk on. My hatred of being misjudged runs deep, Is it an insecurity because there is truth in what is thought or said, or is it deep rooted in my soul? not helped by over awareness of life and the trauma's it has brought me. (more on the snowflake stigma later!).

The beauty of self awareness, whilst at times has been a hinderance, has saved me from a life that I could have had, one where negativity is the thing, where unhappiness is shown to all others as happiness, where expecting nothing more than arguments and negative connotations of people and human beings are the way forward. For that i am grateful, however it has lead me to a life of total self analysis, and hypervigilance, of self doubt and questioning myself and my own integrity.

For this reason I am writing, and writing hard, with a story that will be told, with no shame. It is bound to be erratic, but it will be done, because sitting writing, baring my soul with words soothes that very soul. As i have recently learnt, there is no shame in a story, only shame for the people that shaped the story.