I'm going to be okay. It took a long time to get here, and a lot of pain, most of it caused by my own, poor choices, but I have made it through the worst of it, thanks and praise to God. I survived. The death of my only child in my early years, my beloved mom's death only a few months later--me, a mere teenager who only months before had her permission to marry.

The downhill slide of that marriage when I attended her funeral hundreds of miles away, alone, my supposedly more mature husband obeying his mother and staying back for a new job that didn't last long anyway--thank God for big brothers. He didn't travel with me, but Dennis took care of me once we met at the funeral.

Most of that time is still a blur. Check any psychology text for the causes of stress--the biggest, the first of three listed, are the death of a loved one and marriage. Yes, happy events are still major causes of stress, and with enough of it, we shut down. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is not only for soldiers and cops.

Fast-forward a few years and we have divorce, disease, and then eventually, re-marriage.

That one failed when he left me haemorrhaging my life-blood all over our kitchen floor.

It hasn't been easy. But this last one almost killed me. I've survived Rheumatic Fever, cancer, had severe and disabling bouts of depression and anxiety, and lost almost every material thing of any importance to me. That's another story for another day, but I have also lost my closest friends in recent years--my best friend three years ago. That's saying a lot because I don't have many friends, not the real ones, the ones you share all your secrets with, the ones who sometimes don't say a word but their presence speaks volumes.

But I am a scrapper. I come from a family of them, and I'm proud of our inherent ability to withstand hurricane-force winds blowing ill will. We might go down, but by God we're going down fighting.

My people were pioneers of the north. My great uncle drove the very first train engine into Engleheart's station in the far reaches of Northern Ontario. My biological father, the same father who walked out on his wife and three children when I was only two years old, was responsible (in partnership with another man) for bringing television to Kirkland Lake, to all of Northern Ontario, really.

So what's not to like? Have I made mistakes? You bet I have, some darned ugly ones, but if God can forgive me for them, who do I think I am if I can't forgive myself? I'm not better than He, after all.

Whether others do or not is up to them. I'm not going to struggle, to stress over it anymore--life's too short, and I've already wasted far too much of mine.

That's who I am, and I like me just fine. Tomorrow I'll eat steak and my favorite dessert. I deserve them. I might even travel to the hairdressing school at my local mall for a haircut. My Mom was a hairdresser, and she won many awards during her career, here, in Toronto--the most prestigious of all Ontario schools. I deserve the best I can manage to provide for myself, pauper or not. I've been a pretty great friend to me.

I think Mom would be proud.