An Alien Woman, A Gold Watch and A Wedding Ring. What Is That All About?

Sorry that my last post made some of you feel sad and unhappy for me. Sometimes this phenomenal ability I have as a writer can be just too unsettling.
Hey! Don't be concerned for me. I just celebrated my 64th birthday. Yes life has been tough, especially my childhood, but I got through that somehow, and I am still going strong. Still making mistakes too.
Blimey! When I hear about some young lives, the sickness and the traumas that people go through. Well I tell you, I count my blessings.
There was a time when I felt sorry for myself. Felt that life had handed me a rotten deal. But that was a long time ago. I don't feel like that these days. Anyway what would be the point of self pity. The past cannot be changed.

Self analysis cannot explain why I painted this strange picture.

I consider myself lucky actually. Lucky in the sense that I have a strong instinct for survival. An instinct that has served me well. Lucky too in the way that I am able to analyse my own feelings. I think I have an honest sense of my own strengths and weaknesses. This awareness I have of the inner me, this self truth, serves me well. I never feel the need, as I did in the past, to pretend that I am something which I am not. What a long journey of self discovery it has been though, and of course still ongoing.
How good it must feel to be one of those happy people, who sail through life, avoiding turbulence and storms, or at least taking the rough with the smooth, and never a backward glance of regret. Or maybe not. Perhaps we need our share of adversity to shape us. Turn us into individuals. Make us who we are really meant to be.
Having said all that I do live an alternative kind of lifestyle. I have always, at least since early adulthood, yearned to be away from the norm. Some people find my wagon dwelling life strange. Some envy me the fact, not in a bad way, that I have few possessions, or bills to pay. Even through the years of my marriage, I always had a campervan ready for when the wanderlust hit me. Which it frequently did.
I put my strange ways, if that is what they are, down to my fractured childhood. Somewhere in my psyche is the thought, or realisation that what you haven't got, cannot be taken away from you.
Why I feel the need to tell all about the events that shaped me, is a question I cannot answer with clarity. There is a desire to write things down for my children, especially my daughter from whom I am presently estranged. Maybe one day she will read these things I write, and it will give her an understanding of me. Also I do think I have things to say that others might find of interest, and fellow bloggers will understand the simple pleasure of writing and just the desire to do it.
Finally I will answer a question often asked of me. Do I find it painful to remember the past? The answer is no, not painful. But it does make me sad at times. I have to confess that I often shed tears as I recall certain traumatic times. They are however, only the tears I should have cried a long time ago.